


One of These Days

by oryx_and_cake



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Pirate Adjacent, Romance, Slow Burn, The Pandemic Made Me Do It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx_and_cake/pseuds/oryx_and_cake
Summary: What happened after Fiona left Chicago for good.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

The last candle flame sputters out and darkness pushes into the cabin. Outside, the wind howls and screeches, battering the ancient trees standing sentry outside the cabin. They scrape and claw against the a-frame window, begging to be saved from the onslaught of the blizzard, but there is nothing Fiona can do. There is nothing anyone can do. 

How could she have been so stupid? 

Everyone had warned her. Get a generator. Get snow chains. Stock up on firewood. And Fiona had laughed. She was from Chicago. Winters are no joke in Chicago. Fucking lake effect! Maine couldn't possibly be worse. She would be fine, but thank you for your concern.

Now she knows better, but it is too little too late. The power is out, her phone is dead, and what little heat had been in the cabin had leaked out through uninsulated walls. She should have gone to Marnie's house when she had the chance. With icy fingers, Fiona adjusts her knit hat and burrows deeper under the quilt, leaving only her eyes exposed, but even those have started to flutter closed as if she no longer controls them, just like her teeth. They are chattering uncontrollably, so hard she wonders if they will break free from her jaw.

_ So this is it _ , she thinks.  _ I should have fucking stayed in Chicago. Now I'm gonna die like that Christopher McCandless dumbass in his shitty van in Alaska. _

She lets her eyes close and stay shut. Fighting it is a waste of energy and she wants to use what little she has left to think about her family and her friends. Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, Liam. V and Kev and the twins. She supposes Mickey is part of her family now, too, which is still a weird thought but less weird than it used to be. Franny and Freddie. (Her niece and nephew, not the mortgage companies.) Even Frank gets a brief, bitter thought. The realization that he will outlast her is accompanied by a fury that keeps her warm a little longer.

There are worse ways to go than hypothermia. 

As she slips into unconsciousness, Fiona thinks she hears a banging on the front door. Hypothermic hallucination, she reasons. No one in this town would be stupid enough to drive in this once-in-a-century blizzard… right?

Someone is calling her name. She tries to answer but she has lost her lips, her tongue, her vocal cords. It feels like her entire body is missing. But it must be there because she feels herself being lifted. Or rather, she feels someone else's arms around her, so she must still have a body. Unless this is what it feels like when an angel comes to carry you into the afterlife. Figures the Catholics would be right about the afterlife. Now the universe was just pouring salt in her wounds.

A surge of heat hits her face and she manages to open her eyes. Now she knows she must be hallucinating because she is watching Davy Wilde drive in a blizzard from the passenger seat of his truck and he is the last person in the world who would play hero for her sake. "Hell no," she murmurs as she closes her eyes again. Fiona would much rather die from hypothermia than be rescued by the biggest douchebag in Maine. 

In the end, her stubborn pride always wins.


	2. Six Months Earlier, June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona drives to Maine and finally obeys the Check Engine light.

The Check Engine light had turned on halfway through Rhode Island. It persisted all the way through Massachusetts but it wasn't until Fiona reached Maine that she surrendered to its judgmental glow. After all, she had driven her share of hunkers. Back in Chicago the Check Engine light had only ever been a suggestion, not a call to action.

Things were different now, though. Not only did Fiona have some financial flexibility, she was also _very_ far from home, and the prospect of being stranded alone on the side of an unfamiliar highway was enough motivation to get her car the attention it needed. Of course she could have defended herself--there was a tire iron in the trunk. That wasn't the point. The point was, why put yourself through the hassle when you could pay someone to make your life easier? Money meant peace of mind.

She spotted a sign for a service station and set course for the next exit. The off ramp brought her to a town named Rocheux. As she drove through what she assumed was this town's center, Fiona decided it was indistinguishable from every other seaside New England town she had seen on her road trip thus far. Across from the beach, small specialty shops and seafood restaurants lined a boardwalk that ran the length of the main street. Families of tourists sipped bottled water and licked ice cream cones while their children terrorized seagulls just trying to snag a french fry from a trash can. In the marina, sailboats and fishing boats and small yachts bobbed up and down, while some were in use in the distance, their sails dotting the place where the ocean meets the sky.

The first few towns like this one had felt like heaven on earth. They were picturesque and smelled like the ocean. Fiona had become obsessed with the salty air and the sound of the waves. The ocean was so different from Lake Michigan and she was enamored. Hence the drive from Louisiana up the eastern seaboard. She wanted to follow it as far north as she could, until she reached Canada and had to turn around. Maybe along the way, she would find some place where she would want to put down roots.

But after the first few pit stops, all of the towns started to blur together and she lost count. They were all lovely, but in a disappointingly cookie cutter sort of way. There was nothing here to see or experience that she hadn't already seen or experienced in another copycat town.

The boardwalk came to an end, and the street transitioned from tourist trap to local slice-of-life. The cottages, restaurants and commercial buildings spaced out, trees filling in the gaps. A large, faded sign for Harry's Garage jutted out of the pavement and Fiona turned left, finding ample space in the parking lot. 

She parked and got out of her car, stretching her legs a little before daring to walk on them. Funny what hours of driving could do to your legs, especially when you weren't used to longhauls. She would never complain about taking the L again.

A bell jingled her arrival as she opened the door to the garage office. "You Harry?" she asked the adolescent girl sitting at the counter. 

The girl almost cracked a smile but then decided she was too cool to laugh at some random woman's corny joke. "No. He's out back. What can we do for you?" 

Fiona wasn't used to the Maine accent, yet, and hadn't decided if she liked it or not. 

"Got a check engine light showing and was hoping someone could take a look-"

"DAD." FIona cringed at the sudden increase in volume. An older man appeared from the back room behind the girl. "Her car needs attention." The girl gestured at Fiona and then disappeared, her phone already in her hands, typing away.

"Sorry about her," Harry said, shrugging. 

Fiona smirked. "No worries. Got a few teenagers of my own."

Harry furrowed his brow, no doubt confused how someone as young-looking as Fiona could have teenagers, but wisely did not investigate further.

"That your car?" He pointed to the only car in the parking lot.

Fiona nodded. "Any chance you can fit me in today?" It was a courtesy question. Anyone could see that this man wasn't working on other cars.

"Dunno. Let's go take a look at it." He came out from behind the counter and waved for her to follow him outside. Once beside the car, Fiona opened the driver side door and popped the hood. Harry immediately went to work inspecting the machinery.

"When's the last time you changed the oil?"

"Uh, well, I just bought it a few weeks ago, so I personally have not changed it."

"Where'd you buy it?"

"New Orleans."

Clanking sounds and then Harry straightened his back and wiped his hand on his coveralls. "Well, I can start working on it today, but I probably won't be done for another day or two." He rested his hands on his hips. "You on a deadline or anything?"

Fiona sighed. "No, I can wait, I just need to find somewhere to stay. Does Rocheux frown on vagrants sleeping on their beach?"

Harry laughed. "Normally you'd be out of luck. Most of the inns fill up this time of year. But lucky for you, I know a guy who can probably get you a place to stay."

Fiona calculated how long it would take her to get the hood closed and get back in behind the wheel of the car in case this turned into a sexual favors situation. But all Harry did was get out his cell phone (old school flip style) and punch in some numbers. A few moments later he was having an effusive, friendly conversation with someone named Elliott.

Harry snapped his phone shut and turned back to Fiona, grinning. "My brother Elliott has got a place for you to stay. Grab your stuff. I'll take you there in my car."

Fiona hesitated. "How much will it cost?"

Harry waved away her concerns. "It's on me. You're going to be paying me enough for the car as it is!" He laughed at this, although Fiona did not find it quite as funny.

It sounded too good to be true and it probably was. Either these people were going to sacrifice her to an ocean demon later or she had really found the most generous town in the United States. People were not this nice in Chicago. Or maybe she didn't attract the nice people. Nice people could sense when others needed a little too much, when being nice to them would become a hassle.

The problem with Fiona was that, no matter what happened, she always held out hope. Hope that people could be good, hope that things would go her way. Especially when she was too exhausted to beat that hope back down into the tiny corner of her heart where it survived when cynicism took over. The whole reason she had left Chicago was because she was tired of fighting all the time: for survival, for happiness, for purpose. 

Fiona popped the trunk, got her suitcase and duffel bag, and followed Harry, to his car, which was parked in another lot behind the garage building. "Thank you," she said to him, once she was in the passenger seat. "I really appreciate all of your help."

Harry waved his hand again. "Don't mention it. Well, unless you want to mention it in a Yelp review." He smacked his thigh and laughed. Fiona smiled and turned to look out the window at this town she had stumbled upon. Perhaps it wasn't as cookie cutter as she had initially thought. Perhaps there was more to Rocheux than meets the eye.


	3. Too Good to Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona has a stroke of luck.

The landscape transformed rapidly from beach to woods. The dirt road on which Harry parked cut through a forest of pine and maple trees. Fiona could still smell the sharp saltiness of the ocean air, but it was muted here, diluted by the earthy smells of mulchy leaves and ancient bark. Birds sang from high above them. It was a beautiful scene… except for the bugs buzzing in her face. Harry seemed unbothered by them. Fiona's contact with insects in Chicago had been limited to roaches and dumpster flies. She was still adjusting to being in near constant close proximity to creepy crawlies when in nature.

The cabin was set back a ways from the road. Fiona and Harry walked the pine needle covered path, the large a-frame window that served as the front of the cabin acting as a glass beacon. Another man, this one older and taller than Harry, waited on the front porch. In sharp contrast to Harry, he was well dressed and not covered in grease stains. He also had a smartphone, on which he was tapping away, oblivious to the world around him. Fiona checked her own phone and was relieved to see she got service up here. Only three bars but that was better than nothing. She would at least be able to make a call.

Harry set her bags down on the porch and his brother snapped to attention, immediately offering his hand. "I'm Elliott," he said, and Fiona responded by introducing herself. "Welcome to Rocheux, Fiona." He handed her a clipboard and pen. "I need your contact info."

"Sure," she said, scanning the white form in front of her for anything sketchy. The header said Elliott Carter, Manager at Carter Vacation Homes. Nothing stuck out as objectionable and she started filling it out as Elliott launched into an explanation.

"Standard vacation rental. We had a cancellation and we don't do refunds, so it's pretty much paid for. Harry said he would cover the cleaning fee. So, congratulations on a free vacation!"

Fiona gave him a half smile. She was still a little suspicious--it was in her blood--but if this was legit, then she had to admit it was fun to get a free stay in a woodsy cabin so close to the beach. "What's the catch, fellas?"

Elliott rubbed his chin as if seriously considering her question. "I suppose that it isn't luxury. There's no TV or Internet and the place has some... quirks. It should be fine though for a few days. Oh, and if you enjoy your stay, we would love a good TripAdvisor review. Or an Instagram story."

She was starting to sense a pattern: good treatment in exchange for reviews and social media P.R. Fiona didn't have the heart to tell them she didn't have Instagram, or accounts on Yelp and TripAdvisor. "I'll figure out some way of paying this favor back. You can count on that." 

She passed the clipboard and finished form to Elliott, who gave her a set of keys in exchange. They shook hands again, exchanged farewells, and then Fiona was watching the Carter brothers drive off, leaving her in solitude with the birds, the trees and the bees.

Time to explore.

Entering the cabin, Fiona stepped into a sitting room. The furnishings, a sofa and armchairs, looked dated and in need of new cushions. The rug placed between them was clean but faded. They circled a fireplace, the brick chimney reaching up two stories to a peaked roof. 

The sitting room led into the kitchenette stocked with a mini-fridge, hot plate and coffee maker. The table could fit two people and had exactly two chairs. On the wall was a framed map of Rocheux. Orienting herself, she realized she was only a short walk from the beach and the boardwalk. Good thing because she was starting to get hungry and there was only coffee and Saltines in the cabinet.

She peered into the bathroom next, finding a shower stall, sink and toilet. Beside the bathroom was a broom closet stocked with cleaning supplies and equipment. Instincts taking over, she dug around in the closet a little looking for anything sketchy, but it was no use. All cleaning supplies--garbage bags, bleach, and so on--were sketchy enough if you thought about them for too long.

Fiona concluded her tour upstairs in the loft bedroom. It was thankfully walled off so that outsiders couldn't see into it through the huge front window. Cozy, too, with its own fireplace and closet. On the one hand, it felt pointless to unpack; she'd be gone again in a few days. On the other hand, how often did she get to stay in a cabin? Literally never. She dragged her suitcase upstairs and unpacked a few things, tucking clothes into the bureau, until her stomach reminded her that it was empty with a painful, pitiful growl.

Satisfied with her new digs, Fiona grabbed her purse and took a pocket map from the coffee table, marking the location of this cabin with a pen she kept in her bag. It would suck to go into town only to get lost finding her way back. 

She pulled her hair into a ponytail, securing it with a hair tie, and embarked on another journey down the mountainside back to the beach below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and would love to hear what you think. I finally finished season 9 the other day and decided Fiona's story couldn't end there. So here is my attempt at taking it a little further.


	4. Water Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona makes and enemy and a friend.

By the time Fiona reached the boardwalk, she was mottled with bug bites and her arms and neck were exhausted from swatting away the tiny flying demons that plagued her. She needed bug spray, calamine lotion and an iced coffee stat. 

Nine times out of ten, the beachfront street in a town like this was called Water Street. Rocheux was no exception. It was busy but not packed, not like some of the other beach towns. For midsummer, she would have expected a larger crowd, but maybe the further north you went, the more the crowds thinned. She had no idea but it sounded like a reasonable guess to her.

Fiona quickly located a combination coffee and ice cream shop and was relieved to see it wasn't hipsterfied. The prices were average and the decor wasn't trying too hard. She ordered her iced coffee to go and looked at the community bulletin board as she waited. Rocheux had a book club, a polar bear swimming club, a summer camp, and even a local theater troupe. None of which personally interested her, but good for these townspeople, keeping themselves busy. There was also a notice about a lobsterman's meeting; something about rule changes and enforcement. The rest of the board was mostly coupons for local businesses with those little tear away papers at the bottom. Fiona ripped a few off, mostly for restaurants, and stuck them in her purse.

"Fiona!" shouted the barista, holding out a large plastic cup.

"Thanks," Fiona said, reaching for the cup and a paper straw at the same time. "Hey, do you know where there's a drugstore around here?"

"Uhhh…" said the barista, a young man with floppy surfer hair and a bewildered look. "No," he finally decided, "but we have a General Store further down the street. They have like tylenol and band-aids and stuff."

"Bug spray?"

"Yeah, probably! I've definitely seen some there before." The barista looked immensely pleased that he knew the answer to that one.

Fiona nodded her gratitude and jammed the straw into the plastic lid. Then she set course for the General Store.

\- - - - -

Twenty minutes later, Fiona emerged back onto the boardwalk and adjusted her sunglasses, half empty iced coffee in one hand, a paper bag stuffed with necessities in the other. Bug spray, bug bite lotion, snacks for later, and a flashlight. One of the heavy ones good for bashing heads if anyone tried to murder her tonight in that solitary cabin in the woods.

The General Store was adjacent to a seafood vendor and across the street from the marina. Fiona sipped her coffee (the paper straw was only minutes away from becoming mush), and watched as men (and a few women) in overalls and rubber boots unloaded their catches for the day. The lobster traps were a new experience for her. It was freaky the way the lobsters moved around, snapping at the air. Not like fish who flopped and died after a few minutes. Lobsters reminded you that you were eating a living thing up until you cooked them.

Definitely not the career for her.

Fiona turned back the way she had come, now on the hunt for lunch, but got distracted by a window display of vintage cookware. There were bright teal pots and pans, cast iron skillets, white corning ware decorated with tiny flowers. Some of the goods reminded her of things her grandmother owned. Hell, there was probably still stuff like this in the basement or attic of the house. Who would sell this old crap?

The sign on the door revealed she had stumbled upon an antiques shop that belonged to someone named Marnie. (Fiona noted that Rocheux really liked to name its stores after their owners.) There was always at least one antiques shop in a beach town. Prosperous beach communities often had multiple shops, usually in competition with each other. Fiona's curiosity got the better of her and she stepped inside to explore. 

The shelves were jam packed with an assortment of stuff, some of it organized, some of it haphazardly placed. There were books and artwork and home decor. Fiona touched the handle of an umbrella that had been carved to look like a bird that she did not recognize. She ran her hand over the smooth surfaces of glass bowls and vases. In one corner she found a table overflowing with jewelry--necklaces, bracelets and rings. She began trying on the items that caught her eye.

"No drinks."

Fiona startled and spun around, coming face to face with a bearded man who smelled like seaweed. He was about her age, maybe a little older. He was wearing the unofficial uniform of the lobster/fishermen and did not appear to be flirting with her. His expression was stern. Fiona decided he was rude.

"Excuse me?" She crossed her arms and felt panic rising in her throat. She was cornered here, but if he started something, there were plenty of heavy objects around she could use to her advantage. As she had learned in New Orleans, she also had the element of surprise; people not from Chicago never expected her to throw hard, accurate punches.

"You're not supposed to bring drinks in here. If you spill, you could damage the merch-"

"Why is that your business?" He clearly did not work here. Even if she was breaking some rule, it was accidental. There were infinitely nicer ways to ask someone not to bring a drink into a store. Fiona contemplated how much trouble she could get into if she dumped the rest of her coffee on this guy's head. He was only a few inches taller than her; she could reach.

His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his Bruins cap. "It's not my business, but it is common courtesy." 

Even if he had a point, Fiona was well past conceding it. "Great, thank you for your unsolicited advice," she replied with her finest sarcasm, which was usually enough to repel people. 

"Davy, that's enough now. Give our guest some space." A small, plump woman appeared behind the man, smiling the type of smile meant to diffuse tension. Fiona would have guessed she was in her fifties or thereabouts, and clearly experienced in customer service. She stepped between Fiona and the man, now named Davy, and peered up at him. 

"There are rules for a reason. I was just trying-"

"Trying to help. I know." She patted him on the arm. "I'll take over from here. You get something to eat. You're looking a little hangry." She giggled and turned to Fiona. "My niece taught me that word."

Whether because the woman was calm or she was out of immediate danger, Fiona felt herself relaxing. She also couldn't stop herself from smirking at Davy, lording her victory over him before he turned to go. 

"I'll see you for dinner on Sunday!" the woman said, waving at him before turning her attention back on Fiona. "Don't mind him, dear. He's mistrustful of outsiders. I'm Marnie."

Marnie held out her hand and Fiona took it, calmer but not yet ready to smile. "Fiona."

"Oh, you're Fiona!" The woman smiled, and continued when she saw the confusion on FIona's face. "Harry and Elliott are my brothers. I've already heard all about your car trouble. You're breaking news around here."

"No way," Fiona said, laughing nervously. She wasn't sure how to feel about people she did not know knowing about her. "Davy one of your brothers, too?"

Marnie gave her a gentle smile. "No, a former student, from when I was a teacher. Follow me to the front while you finish your coffee. You can keep me company while I sort buttons. I want to hear your whole story!" Marnie began walking away and FIona was compelled to follow. She had to give it to the old woman: that was a deft way to get her to stop walking around the shop with her coffee while not making her feel chastised.

Part of her wanted to leave and not enmesh herself in this town any further. But a bigger part of her admitted driving solo up the eastern seaboard was a lonely trip and she was starved for meaningful human interaction. A conversation with a nice former teacher might be exactly what she needed.


	5. Call Me Ishmael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona gets lunch and revenge.

The waitress plopped a basket of fish and chips in front of Fiona and then refilled her water glass. The beer-battered fish were a dark golden brown and the fries were a light golden brown, and all of it shimmered with a light layer of grease. Fiona knew she was going to feel like shit after eating this, but her options were limited. The only other place to eat on the boardwalk besides Mary Lou's Ice Cream and Coffee Shop and Billy's Fish Shack was Fredo's Pizza Palazzo, and Fiona had yet to find pizza anywhere that was as good as Chicago pizza. She definitely didn't think she would find it in a small town in Maine. So, fish and chips it was. It helped that when she walked up to the building, there was a big, black furry dog sitting quietly outside, who let Fiona pet him (or her, she couldn't tell) for a few minutes before going inside.

"Can I get you anything else, hun?"

Fiona shook her head. "I'm good for now. Thanks."

She was seated at the counter. It was late afternoon and the Shack was mostly empty. No doubt the lunch rush had already happened and Fiona was a straggler. Not that she minded. If there was one thing Fiona liked about small towns, it was the quiet. Whenever she was not in a city, it was like she could finally hear herself think. 

The only thing she did mind, at the moment, was that Davy (or whatever that asshole's name was) was sitting in this restaurant in a booth in the back corner. When she'd entered, their eyes had briefly met before flicking away, both pretending the other wasn't there. If Fiona hadn't been so hungry, she would have left, but Marnie had kept her talking for so long, her stomach was about ready to eat itself. 

The meal was good. No more or less remarkable then the seafood she'd been eating for several weeks now. She was on the verge of being sick to death of it. Fortunately, there were many things Fiona could tolerate even after being sick of them. One week, when she was a kid, she had subsisted on generic brand Life cereal for a week. This was after Lip was born but before Ian. She'd needed what little money they had for formula because Monica was, of course, nowhere to be found, which meant cereal for her. Anytime Fiona started to feel deprived, all she had to do was remind herself of what absolute deprivation looked like and then she felt something akin to gratitude.

Marnie Sullivan (neé Carter) was crafty, Fiona learned. Skilled at getting people to open up. But Fiona was equally skilled at shutting people out, and eventually they had reached an impasse. Fiona told her about growing up in a big family and needing to break free to figure out who she was and what she really wanted, about her journey from Chicago to New Orleans to here, but she kept everything before that locked down, only letting a few inconsequential details slip. 

Marnie knew how to ask questions that seemed innocuous but were actually precision targeted to reveal a person's inner world. For example, she had asked Fiona, why not stay in New Orleans? And the truth was that the drinking culture had caused Fiona to backslide slightly, but she couldn't say that without Marnie assuming she was an alcoholic or addict of some sort. Instead she had said, "I thought I wanted to be somewhere warm, and it was good for winter, but once spring hit, the heat and humidity were fu-, I mean, terrible. And then people started talking about hurricanes and I decided to get out." Which was technically true and the reason she had chosen to drive north, but not her main motivation for leaving. 

The conversation had been exhilarating and exhausting, and Fiona was actually looking forward to heading back to the cabin for a nap. Tomorrow she would actually go to the beach and go swimming, but she was so tired now that she was sure she would fall asleep on the sand and wake up a deep shade of sunburnt red. She waved to the waitress and asked for a box to pack up the rest of her meal. She was rifling through her purse when a body sat down beside her. She knew who it would be before she even looked. It took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes.

"What's up, Captain Ahab? If you're looking for a big white whale, I haven't seen him."

"Moby Dick humor. Very original."

Normally Fiona found snark attractive, but she would make an exception for this guy. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier." 

Fiona narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he was sincere, then decided it didn't matter. She would prefer he never speak to her again. "Fine. Apology accepted. Go stalk someone else now."

Davy smiled ever so slightly and that one action finally got her to roll her eyes. Fiona left a ten dollar bill on the table and stood up to leave. Forget her leftovers; she needed to get out of here.

"One other thing," he said, no longer smiling. "If you're smart, you'll get out of this town by tomorrow."

Fiona's heart said, _fuck off_ , but her brain had a better idea. She pulled a folded up piece of paper out of her purse and feigned studying it. "That's so funny; I was going to leave tomorrow, but then Marnie told me all about the carnival, festival thing you all have coming up and said I should stay because it's really fun." She showed him the flyer as if presenting evidence in a court trial, before stuffing it back in her bag. "You know what? I think I will. And if _you're smart_ , you'll get back over to your girlfriend. She's starting to look a little jealous that you're talking to me." Indeed, the blonde woman in his booth had been watching this exchange unfold and she did not look pleased.

He looked mad now and Fiona did not even try to suppress her gleeful smile. Was she really going to stick around? She wasn't sure yet, but it might be worth it just to see this look persist on his face. Just in time, the waitress dropped off her doggie bag and thanked her for the tip. All smiles now, Fiona told her to have a good one and left the Fish Shack without even a backward glance, making sure to pet the dog outside goodbye, for she was certain now that the dog belonged to Davy or one of his friends. 

Pushing her sunglasses back down from her hair to her nose, Fiona began her victory walk back to her cabin, no longer cognizant of the itch in her bug bites, ruminating on how beating an obnoxious man at his own game was one of the greatest pleasures life had to offer.


	6. Beach Day Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona goes to the beach and attempts to swim.

As long as she had a sleep mask, Fiona Gallgher could sleep through the sound of Chicago's trains, traffic, garbage dumpsters and police sirens. She could even sleep through the noises of the other Gallghers--laughing, shouting, crying, general mayhem and destruction. But Fiona Gallagher, it turned out, could not sleep through the chaotic chorus that was a hundred birds singing their mating calls in the middle of the woods. 

_You loud motherfuckers. Shut up!_

Her telepathic demands unsuccessful, Fiona begrudgingly accepted defeat. She tossed aside the pillow with which she had tried to block out the birdsongs to no avail and groaned as she sat up. A bright, hot sun greeted her when she removed her sleep mask. 

At least she would get to the beach early.

\- - - - - -

She was starting to think that Maine didn't like her. First, her car had started acting up. Then she'd had to deal with that weirdo lobsterman. This morning, the local avian wildlife had refused to let her sleep. And no, to add insult to injury, the ocean was way too cold for swimming. Fiona even tried to grin and bear it, hoping that the longer she stayed in the water, the less cold it would feel, but numbness wasn't the same as warmth. Even the ocean by Rhode Island had been warm enough for swimming. This patch of the Atlantic was as cold as Lake Michigan in the winter. FIne, not exactly that cold, but close enough for Fiona.

After ten minutes, she finally gave up trying to adjust to the frigid temperature and splash-walked through the water back to her towel on the sand. She'd been prescient enough to pack a book in her bag , and decided she would read that until lunch or until Harry called to tell her that her car was ready, whichever happened first. She toweled herself dry, pulled her denim cutoffs and tee shirt back on over her bikini and then furled the towel out, letting the wind blow out horizontal so that she could spread it over the sand, and made herself comfortable.

The book was a memoir Fiona had taken from a bed and breakfast in Rhode Island that had a bookshelf filled with free books. Guests were supposed to replace the book they took with a book they didn't want anymore. Fiona read too sporadically to have anything to put in its place. She took it anyway, thinking no one would really mind, and she was glad she had because this book was bonkers. In Educated, Tara Westover documented growing up in an insane family that somehow was worse than her own. Reading it made Fiona feel lucky to be born a Gallagher.

The memoir was captivating, but it was no match for Fiona's sleep deprivation. The sand beneath her towel was so soft and the rhythmic roar of the ocean was like nature's lullaby. In no time, she was fast asleep, 

\- - - - - -

Fiona was awoken to something warm and wet and with an odor like fish licking her face. "Ugh," she protested, scrunching her face and jerking her head back to get away from the offending creature. Pushing up her sunglasses she realized it was the same massive dog from the day before that she had been petting outside the restaurant. "Oh, it's you," she said, only half-annoyed now. 

"Sorry!" a voice shouted at her from the left. She looked over as she petted the canine, keeping its kisses at bay by stroking it's big fat head instead. A man was running down the beach. "She took off when she saw you." He paused a few feet from her towel, doubled over trying to catch his breath. "You must have made a good impression yesterday."

Fiona realized this was Davy's friend, the one who had been sitting in the back booth with him and the woman. She studied him, unsure of whether to give him the time of day or not. He took her silence as an opportunity to introduce himself. "I'm Oscar, by the way. And this is Bonnie." He was a young man--Fiona would have guessed around Ian's age--with a large smile. Despite her wariness, Fiona gave him a slight smile in return. Nothing overly welcome, though. 

"Fiona." She returned her attention to Bonnie. "She's sweet. How long have you had her?"

Oscar's smile switched from friendly to proud as he sat cross-legged in the sand. "We've been BFFs for five years. Ain't that right, girl?"

Bonnie groaned happily as Oscar scratched her butt right above her tail and fell over onto her side, displaying her belly for all to admire. Fiona grinned. She missed Rusty. It occurred to her suddenly that Rusty must have been taken by animal control before her building was torn down. Why hadn't she tried harder to make him leave? Christ, she was such an asshole sometimes. 

Oscar was still going on about his dog. "She goes with me to work every day and helps out on the boat. Her favorite treats are salmon jerky-"

"I could tell."

"-and pretzels. One time, she actually saved me when I fell off the boat…"

This kid (as she was now referring to him, even though he was an adult) was clearly starved for attention. To be fair, so was she, in a way. There were perks to traveling alone, but this town had her realizing how lonely the road could be if you were on it too long. "You work with that guy, Davy?" she asked, interrupting the story of Bonnie's adoption from an old fisherman who's dogs had had puppies. Bonnie had been the runt of the litter, apparently.

"Oh, yeah." This question had apparently gotten Oscar to shut up, although that had not been Fiona's intention. Oscar wasn't responsible for Davy's attitude. But he looked worried that she might lay into him for it regardless.

"It's fine, I'm not mad. At you." She smirked at him and he seemed to relax. 

"He's the boat captain and I'm crew. There's the sternman, too, Ilya. We all kind of grew up together."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?"

"Well, we were all at the same state boys' school slash home. Y'know, for orphans." Oscar's voice had dropped in volume and Fiona realized he was telling her a secret. Something Davy wouldn't want her to know. "They finished way before me, but came back for me when they could. And now we all work together. I don't know where I'd be right now if not for them." 

Fiona lazily scratched behind Bonnie's ears as she looked out at the ocean. She knew what he was doing, trying to make Davy look like less of an asshole. Orphanhood explained a lot, she supposed. But just because Oscar apparently hero-worshipped him did not mean that she had to do the same. An explanation was not an excuse. 

"Hey, is there anywhere good to eat around here besides that seafood shack place?" she asked, ready for a change of subject. 

"Yeah! Once you get into town and off the beach drag, there's lots of places. What are you in the mood for?"

"Hmm… maybe a burger and a beer."

Oscar stood up and started brushing the sand off of his shorts. "I know exactly where we should go."

" _We_?"

"Yeah! You're gonna need a ride. And the whole town knows about your car situation. Come on."

Bonnie sensed that travel was imminent and rolled over and hopped up, bouncing slightly on her front paws in excitement. Fiona hesitated for a second. Who even was this kid? But strangely enough she trusted him. He reminded her too much of Ian, ever the optimist, always seeing the good in people. And for a cynic like her, that shit was magnetic. Positives attract negatives and all that. Fiona sighed, more resigned than excited, and stood up and collected her things.

"Let's go before I change my mind."

Oscar grinned and led the way to his car, talking Fiona's ear off about this brewery they were headed to the whole way there.


	7. Exit Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona gets back on the road.

On the way to lunch, Fiona discovered that Rocheux, Maine was much more than a beach and a woodsy outpost. Oscar took her on a driving tour to see the farms, the neighborhoods, and the "attractions" like the lobster museum--a collection of knick knacks and doo dads and occasional items of historical significance inside someone's refurbished barn--and the largest fiberglass lobster statue in the United States. She'd actually snapped a photo of that; it was too ridiculous not to. A selfie wouldn't do it justice. Oscar had taken one of her standing next to it making an incredulous face. Fiona had never really learned hot to be comfortable with smiling for photos. 

It was, in her opinion, still a run down place, not polished and posh like a lot of the other beach towns she'd stopped in the past few weeks. But now at least she could see how it had charm, why someone might want to live here, even when it didn't seem like there was much happening. 

Over lunch at the Castaway brewpub, Oscar explained that Rocheux was good if you'd liked the outdoors. Hiking in the summer and skiing in the winter were all nearby, but if he ever wanted to do something eventful, like go to a concert for a band bigger than the local ones that occasionally played the local bars, he had to drive down to Portland. The further north you went, the older the population got. 

"Tough getting laid, huh, buddy?"

Oscar nearly choked on his shrimp taco, his face scarlet. Bonnie, who was sitting on the patio beside him, looked up at him in concern. "It's easier in the summer." He laughed uncomfortably and Fiona smiled to signal she was just teasing him. He took a long gulp of beer and returned to the conversation more relaxed. "But also, there's not much opportunity economically. Most of the lobster and fishermen all have side gigs to pay bills and it's only getting worse. The price of lobster is rock bottom. You can't make a living anymore. I'm hoping to get out of lobstering in the next few years, if things work out." 

Fiona wiped burger grease out of the corners of her mouth. "Sounds like you have a plan."

Oscar grinned. "Lobster is a sinking industry--seafaring pun intended--but craft brew is still booming. I've been brewing in my basement for a couple of years, perfecting my recipes. Eventually I'll expand, build a tasting room, and be as big as Shipyard and Seadog. Ilya's gonna partner with me."

"Get out! That's great." Fiona had known this guy for all of two hours and was already feeling like a proud big sister. She hadn't yet decided if that was a good thing or not. She didn't ask why Ilya was investing and Davy wasn't. Whatever brief flicker of curiosity she had about the situation was quickly extinguished by her growing dislike for him.

"Long term, I'm aiming for a place like this one, but it's probably too soon to be thinking about that, y'know?"

For the rest of lunch, Oscar described his beer varieties in great detail, and told Fiona that if she ever came back to Rocheux, he would make her try them all. Fiona didn't have the heart to tell him that she wasn't much of a drinker anymore, or that she had zero plans to ever come back to this town. This time next year, she'd probably be back in Chicago, working a shitty minimum wage job because she'd spent all of her investment payout on traveling the country. Places like Rocheux would be a distant memory, something that felt more like a dream, not reality.

The text from Harry came as they were asking for the check. "My car's ready. Guess I'm heading out this afternoon." The waiter brought the check to their table in a plastic tray. Oscar tried to take it, but Fiona yanked it from his hand. "Nope, you drove me here and gave me a tour. Lunch is my treat."

Oscar blushed again. "Thank you," he said quietly, revealing that he didn't get treated like this very much. Fiona was suddenly pissed that this sweet kid had experienced a dearth of kindness in life. Clenching her jaw, she counted out the right amount of cash for the bill and tip and told herself to breathe, to calm down. By the time she had placed the money on the tray, she was back to normal. Or at least close enough. "Shall we?"

They walked back to the car, flip flops crunching on gravel, summer bugs buzzing around them. Fiona realized she could still smell the ocean this far inland.

\- - - - - -

Oscar dropped her off at Harry's garage and wished her good luck. Bonnie gave her a final kiss to the hand. Fiona watched them drive away with a final wave goodbye. 

In the garage, Harry's daughter, who Fiona now understood was also Marnie's niece, looked at Fiona like she had never seen her before. They stood in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to talk, then both speaking at the same time.

"Can I help-"

"I'm here to-"

Another beat of silence and then, "Dad!"

Harry appeared from the backroom. "Hey, Fiona! Everything's all set. She should run good as new now."

Fiona was accustomed to being ripped off by mechanics, but her gut told her that not only was Harry telling the truth, but he was about to charge her a fair price. In fact, she owed less than the original quote. Still a lot, but not as much as she had anticipated. She paid him with a check from a checkbook, an action that had gotten her some funny looks from folks the last few months, but at which Harry didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Oh, Marnie asked me to ask you to pop in to see her before you head out. She has something for you."

"For me? Okay. Thanks."

They said their goodbyes and Fiona set course for Marnie's Antiques.

\- - - - - -

Back on the boardwalk, FIona parallel parked a few spots down from Marnie's front door. Since leaving the brewpub with Oscar, dark clouds had begun rolling into town, and the waves looked choppier than they had this morning. The weather app on Fiona's phone showed that sure enough a storm was making its way Northeast. She would race it, get to her next destination before it could even touch her.

"Hello?" The bell on the door jingled her arrival and Fiona had deja vu from yesterday. This time she went directly to the counter, but Marnie wasn't there. She appeared a moment later from deeper in the shop.

"Oh, hi, Fiona! You picked up your car?"

They made small talk until there wasn't much else to say, and then Marnie gave her a small box. "I saw you eyeing these earrings yesterday. I want you to have them."

"Marnie, I can't-"

"Yes, you can. You need something to remember us by. Also… I have a favor to ask of you. If you're still headed North, that is."

Fiona smiled. "What do you need?"

Marnie explained that Fiona would be helping her out if she would make a delivery. This customer lived in a small Maine town that was notorious for slow shipping speeds. The package was a birthday gift for someone. Would Fiona drop it off so that it could get there on time?

How strange that this woman who barely knew who was trusting her to do this. And yet Fiona found she didn't mind. Being asked to do this made her feel… worthy? She couldn't pinpoint it exactly. Maybe it was a combination of things. Whatever it was, she liked it.

Marnie brought the box out to Fiona's car, explaining that it was fragile, and so Fiona had her leave it on the passenger seat and she buckled it in with the seatbelt, resisting the urge to quote _A Christmas Story_ or ask if it was a leg lamp.

Unlike her earlier goodbyes, Marnie hugged her and demanded that she visit again, reminding her about the carnival next week for July 4th. Fiona told her she would see what she could do, and then got back in her car and drove up to the cabin to change her clothes, pack up her things and leave the key under the mat for Elliott.

\- - - - - -

By the time she got back onto the highway headed north, the light sprinkle had turned to full on rain. The town where she was supposed to bring this package was a good two hour drive, so Fiona put on the radio and drove as fast as she could without being reckless, abandoning her plan to outrun the storm. It hadn't looked that big on the weather map and she was hoping it would pass over quickly.

Twenty minutes and fewer miles later, the rain was coming down in torrential sheets. She passed more than one motorcyclist who had decided to wait out under an overpass. Whenever the road dipped, Fiona felt more like she was driving a duck boat than a car. She was debating pulling over to the side and waiting it out, as well, when the decision was made for her.

A tractor trailer ahead of her jackknifed and Fiona swerved to avoid hitting it and hit her brakes. Had that been all that happened, she would have been fine, but then another vehicle slammed into her from behind. She recognized the crumple of a car buckling and felt it push forward slightly from the impact. Briefly, she wondered if this was the end. Maybe she'd been living a _Final Destination_ type scenario the last year or so that started with surviving the car accident that had destroyed her brand new SUV. 

But then it got quiet and she was, she assumed, still alive and not a ghost, judging by the amount of adrenaline surging through her body. Shutting off the car, she threw the door open and got out, rainstorm be damned. Whoever had crashed into her must have been driving way too fast.

"Goddammit-" She stopped in her tracks when she saw the driver. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

He got out of the truck scowling, ready for a fight. "Where the fuck did you learn how to drive?" 

"Fuck you. Look what you did to my car!"

They were shouting over the rain. Fiona's car had been no match for Davy Wilde's pickup truck. Her entire trunk was crumpled, one of the tires utterly deflated. He was like some harbinger of doom that ruined her life every time he appeared.

The tractor trailer driver had straightened himself out and was on his way, not sticking around to help.

Davy scoffed. "You'll be fine. It's my car insurance that's gonna take the hit."

Car insurance. _Fuck_. She had had this car for a little over a month. And since she'd been travelling the entire time, she'd never bothered to insure it.

It must have shown on her face, because Davy started shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, you don't have _car_ insurance?"

Fiona wanted to slap him. Technically he was right; it was her own fault that she didn't have insurance. 

"For fuck's sake." He was exasperated, no doubt by her lack of response or action. Fiona was frozen. Fight, flight or freeze. She'd started out fight and now she was in freeze mode. "Come on, I'll give you a ride back to town. Harry will send a tow truck when the storm is over."

This technically made sense but Fiona wasn't going to let him save the day. "No, thanks," she finally said. "I'll be on my way." 

She turned and started walking back to the car, but he grabbed her by the arm. "Don't be stupid-" 

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp. Fiona could feel herself on the verge of tears and she did not want him to see her cry. "I have to make a delivery for Marnie! Fuck off!"

"Fucking hell, you only have three tires!"

"I have to make the delivery! It's a birthday present!"

Their shouting had escalated to screaming. Fiona resumed her walk back to the driver's side of her car but was once again blocked when Davy ran in front of her and stood in front of the door.

"Fine! I'll help you make this stupid delivery, okay? And then will you go back to town to sort all of this out?"

They were drenched and Fiona was starting to get cold. It was tough to say whose death glare was more withering. They had both clearly had a lifetime of practicing their condescension for others. Finally, she relented, because she had no choice. Her car wasn't going anywhere without a tow.

"Help me with my stuff!"

Why did this feel like making a deal with the devil?


	8. Roadtrip Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona attempts to drive north.

The rain continued unabated. Naturally Fiona assumed she was being cosmically punished. She could think of few things more cruel than to be trapped in a small space with someone you loathed for an interminable length of time made longer by shitty driving conditions. 

Davy was driving safely, maybe a little _too_ safely in Fiona's opinion. He could have gone about 5 miles per hour faster without putting them in any danger. As much as she wanted to criticize his driving out loud, she bit her tongue. Her life was technically in his hands now, and while Fiona was prone to making emotion-fueled bad decisions, she had made enough of those for a while. Davy wasn't speaking either, no doubt too intent on driving through the deluge to engage. And thus they reached an unintentional truce, a pact of silence that lasted until the rain stopped. 

It was Fiona who stirred first. She was cold, her drenched clothes not drying fast enough. Reaching into the back of the cab, she dug around in her luggage, excavating an old (but most comfy) sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, followed by a dry beach towel. "Don't even think about sneaking a peek," she ordered, using the towel to hide beneath while she change.d No way Davy was getting a glimpse of the goods. 

He snorted. "Wouldn't dream of it." And, to his credit, he kept his eyes on the road. 

Fiona then used the towel to dry her hair as best she could, but it was a lost cause. Finding a hair elastic, she pulled her flat, frizzy curls up into a messy top knot, her default summer 'do for humid and hazy Chicago days. Turned out it worked just as well for cold and rainy Maine days, too.

As the sky cleared, Davy drove faster and Fiona was relieved to think this nightmare would soon be over. She curled up in her seat and focused all of her attention on her phone. After a while, she forgot Davy was even there.

\- - -

"You're going the wrong way."

"No, I'm not."

" _Yes_ , you are. The GPS said to turn back there!" Davy looked… smug? Was he really ignoring the GPS just to aggravate her? Fuck, he was so irritating. "Stop the truck and let me out. I'll walk to the house and find another ride out of here."

He laughed. "You don't even understand how ridiculous of a statement that is. We are well past the last bus station until Canada and Uber isn't a thing up here."

Fiona wanted to murder him. She wanted to grab the steering wheel and crash his truck into a tree. They might both be dead but at least she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.

 _Yes_ , she was aware that she had an anger problem. _No_ , she wasn't really going to murder-suicide them. Imagining it, though, was an effective coping mechanism.

Davy gave her a sidelong glance and then took the next left turn. "This way is faster. Just trust me."

"You want me to trust you? After all of your bullshit back in Rocheux? Buddy, you must be on some _great_ drugs."

He shot her a scowl and Fiona turned on the truck's radio. The vast majority of men did not like strangers messing with their radios or choosing the music and she was hoping it would annoy him. The cab filled with fuzzy, crackling sounds as Fiona tried to find something-- _anything_ \--to listen to that wasn't the voice of the worst road trip partner ever. Unfortunately, the only station they seemed to be picking up with any clarity had a lot of banjos. She shut it off with a huff.

"I'm sorry about giving you a hard time."

"Come again?" Fiona must not have heard him correctly. 

Davy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes still on the dirt road in front of them. "I _said_ ," he increased the volume of his voice, "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time. At Marnie's. And at the restaurant."

He had stunned Fiona into silence. All she could do was stare at him in disbelief. 

"Quit staring at me-"

"If you think I'm just gonna forgive-"

A deer leaped out into the road and Davy stopped short, narrowly missing the doe by about three inches. Everyone, the animal and the two humans, were frozen as if time had stopped. Then the deer flicked her ear and continued on her way, scampering into the brush and trees on the other side of the road. Fiona and Davy both rediscovered their ability to breathe and inhaled. The truck had died. Davy turned the ignition and revived it.

"You know," he said, "I'm starting to think you're bad luck."

Fiona actually laughed. "You have no idea."

\- - -

They found the house on a hill that Marnie had sent them to, interrupting a party in progress. When Marnie had said the box had a last minute birthday present, she had not been exaggerating. Whatever was in there was a gift for a man named Charlie who was turning 75 years old. His wife, Imelda, was effusively grateful and invited them inside, saying that there was plenty of cake and other food, and wouldn't they have dinner as a tip for their delivery? Fiona thought she would have preferred a monetary tip, but Davy accepted immediately and made his way inside, following Imelda to the kitchen. Fiona wasn't going to wait in the truck while Davy stuffed his face. A minute later, she found herself in front of a summer BBQ spread that had her mouth watering. 

After piling a plate with a hot dog, some chicken wings, and various side salads (potato, pasta and green), Fiona made her way outside. The sun had set en route, and Charlie and Imelda's backyard was lit up with strings of lights and lamps. The party guests were milling about, talking and drinking and eating. There were enough people here that no one would question the appearance of two random additional guests. Fiona found an unoccupied adirondack chair at the edge of the party, facing out to the wilderness beyond the bounds of the property. Before her, a blanket of night sky spread out infinitely, more stars than she had ever seen in her life glittering. The sight of it made her feel suddenly small.

"Makes you feel insignificant, right?"

"Something like that."

Davy sat in the chair next to hers and held out a can. "I found the beer cooler outside," he explained with a shrug, but Fiona understood it was a peace offering. One beer would be fine and she would hold herself to that. Besides, it wasn't like they were staying here long enough to have more than one. She took it with a nod of thanks and they ate silently. Sitting in absolute silence was starting to be a pattern with them.

"Why were you such an asshole to me back in Rocheux? You didn't even know me."

Davy cleared his throat, once more signalling his discomfort with this topic. But Fiona wasn't going to give him a pass. She wanted an answer and her determination showed in her eyes when Davy met her gaze.

"I thought I knew who you were, but I was wrong."

Fiona sipped her beer before continuing the interrogation. "Who did you think I was?"

Davy stalled as well, taking several sips before answering. "Yet another hipster who had come to Rocheux thinking they could have their perfect Instagram van life on a beach making Etsy crap out of reclaimed wood or whatever overrated craft they dabble in before realizing there's nothing for them in a dying town and moving back to Portland or Manchester or Boston or whatever city they drove up from."

Fiona blinked. "That is… very specific. And bleak." Not at all what she had been expecting. 

Davy chuckled. "I've seen it happen a dozen times. And Marnie, Harry, Elliot and all of the other local elders always fall for it, bending over backwards to woo them into staying, thinking that Instagram influencers or, hell, even just new blood under 40 years old will revive the town and make it what it was decades ago." He shook his head. "They get their hearts broken every time. I was just… trying to protect them by running you out of town. I know that makes me sound like a complete psycho."

All of their pushing for Yelp and TripAdvisor reviews was starting to make more sense to Fiona. "I kind of understand going completely psycho to protect people you care about. However, I don't know whether to be offended or flattered that you thought I had an Instagram or a livable van."

Both of them were smiling slightly. "Oscar set me straight. He said you were cool."

"We just talked today."

"He texted me right after you had lunch, going on and on about how much fun you had."

Fiona blushed slightly. "He's the cool one. Starting a brewery? That's bold." As she said it, she remembered what Oscar said about Davy not wanting to invest, but it was too late to take it back.

"That kid is like a brother to me and his beers are good, but he doesn't know anything about running a business."

"People can learn," she said quietly. 

Davy seemed to sense he had hit below the belt. "Fair enough. You ready to go?"

Fiona nodded and stood up, collected her empty plate and beer can. Davy was right behind her, then beside her, and she caught a glimpse of his forearm, and was struck by the realization that he had attractive forearms. It was a brief thought that she squashed almost immediately, a dismissal made easier by sound of clinking glass. Something momentous was about to happen. The guests were amalgamating into a crowd on the patio. Fiona set her plate on a table and hovered at the back of the group with Davy.

"I know there are lots of gifts for you to open tonight, but I want you to open mine first," Imelda said, handing the box Fiona had delivered earlier to Charlie. "I searched far and wide and finally found it a few days ago."

Charlie had a big grin plastered on his face as he took the box and started unwrapping it. A moment later, he revealed the box's contents, a teddy bear. He looked at it for a moment, studying the faded fur and the worn ears, and then burst into tears. "It's just like Tim's." He and Imelda, who was still smiling, embraced, and the crowd applauded gently.

"Is he okay?" Fiona whispered, bewildered, to no one in particular.

A man turned around and spoke low as he clapped. "Tim was Charlie's brother who died in the Vietnam War. They both fought but only Charlie came back."

Fiona nodded and had a feeling like she had encroached on something intimate. Imelda knew her husband well enough to know that an antique teddy bear that symbolized his lost brother would make him emotional, to know that it was the perfect special occasion gift. She couldn't think of a single object that would elicit a similar reaction from her, or anyone who knew her and loved her as deeply as these two people clearly loved each other.

A warm hand on her shoulder nudged Fiona from her daze. "We should get going," Davy whispered in her ear, and he guided her around the crowd and over to the side of the house, dropping his hand only when they were within sight of the truck.

"Back to Rocheux?" he asked, climbing into the driver's seat.

Fiona sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and Fiona rolled her eyes. "I was coming up here to visit the border. Don't laugh. I just wanted to see Canada. I've never seen it. But maybe I'll come back another time." She shrugged.

Davy looked at his watch. "It's not that far. If you don't mind getting back to town late, we could go see Canada. In the dark." He started the engine.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I owe you one anyway. You know, for being such an asshole."

"True. Fine. But this doesn't mean you're completely forgiven."

He backed the car up out of the driveway. "What percentage forgiven am I?"

Fiona pretended to think it over, wrinkling her nose as if she was calculating complicated math. "Well, there were two incidents…. Plus the rear-ending on the highway-"

"That was not my-"

" _Shh_. But you came through with courier services and now you're going out of your way to help me cross off a bucket list item, so I think that adds up to... 45%."

"Oof. Tough negotiator."

"Less talking, more driving, bucko."

In the end, the border was not that exciting. There was a little town and barely a checkpoint, and the town continued on the other side, half belonging to the U.S. and the other half the property of Canada. Nonetheless, she took a selfie with the border sign. Davy wisely did not offer to take the picture for her or ask to be in the picture. Fiona felt her world, which had always been small, limited to Chicago and now the east coast, get a little bit bigger that night. She might have to go back to Rocheux for now, for a little while longer, but then she was going to see the rest of the world. Somehow, some way, she needed to get a passport.

On the trip back to Rocheux, Davy smugly revealed his truck had bluetooth, Fiona called him an asshole with a smile, and they finally had music from his phone to fill the awkward silence. It was still somewhat banjo-y but the banjos were less intense than the ones from earlier. In no time, she was asleep, curled up on the passenger seat with her bag for a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay in an update. I started working full time again and finding time to write has gotten trickier, but I am determined to finish!! Also, just fyi, I have not seen Season 10 yet (and I'm not sure yet if I'm going to watch it), so if anything I write here contradicts season 10, consider this a diverging timeline.


	9. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

Sensing a shift in speed, the signal that they had pulled off the highway and were now rolling into town, Fiona woke up. Groggy, she raised a hand to massage her sore neck and looked at the clock. After 2 a.m. The truck's headlights sliced through the darkness as Davy turned onto Water Street. Fiona hadn't seen it at night before. There were a few streetlights, but it was mostly dark and silent. It was like a completely different place. Not like Chicago, which felt like Chicago always, no matter the time of day or night.

"Where should I drop you off?"

It was dark in the truck but Fiona could make out the fatigue on Davy's face, and could hear it in his voice. 

"Anywhere here is fine."

"What?"

"Just drop me off on the beach. I'll hang out here until sunrise."

He scoffed and shook his head. When he saw her frown, he rolled his eyes and offered an explanation. "Marnie would tie cement blocks to my feet and dump me off a boat 30 miles from shore if I left you on the beach at-" he paused to look at the digital clock, "-almost three o' clock in the morning. Not happening."

Fiona knew what this meant. He was taking her to wherever he lived. Up until now, she had pictured him living on a rundown houseboat or something. She hoped that, for her sake, that was not the case.

She was relieved to discover he lived in a house. It was small. More of a cottage than a house. As they got out of the truck, Fiona could smell and hear the ocean. She peered around the side of the house and could see the water shimmering in the moonlight. He might not live in a boat, but he lived beside the ocean like some grouchy old lighthouse keeper. That checked out.

They entered through the side door into the kitchen and were immediately greeted by a hulking, furry beast, panting disapproval at them. Bonnie, wondering where they had been and did they know what time it was? Fiona smiled at her and stroked the side of her fat face in greeting. So Oscar lived here, too. Why did that not surprise her?

Davy turned a light on and Fiona set her luggage down by the kitchen door. "You got a couch?" she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Oscar (or anyone else she had yet to discover was here). 

"Yeah, but you can have my bed. I gotta be up in a couple of hours anyways, so I'll nap on the couch."

Fiona felt her stomach sink. Of course he had to work tomorrow. Oscar had told her at lunch that they took the lobster boat out every day but Sunday. And she'd kept Davy out--unintentionally, but still--until all hours of the morning. "No, I can't let you do that. Come on. Is it in here?" she asked, taking a few steps into the next room. She was right. It was the living room, and there was a couch, along with a loveseat and an armchair, all pointing at a wall mounted TV. 

"Nice try. I'm still trying to get to 100% forgiven," he said, whispering a little too close to her ear. She startled and he smirked, then carried her luggage off deeper into the house. Fiona followed.

\- - - - - -

It took far too long for Fiona to fall asleep. A strange day plus a strange bed and her awkward nap earlier all took their toll on her psyche. Sometime around 5 a.m. she heard voices in the kitchen and the stirrings of people getting ready to go to work. Bonnie barked and someone shushed her. Then there was the sound of the truck starting and driving away on gravel. The sun was starting to peek up over the horizon. Finally alone, Fiona drifted off to sleep. The sun had other plans for her, though. It shone into the master bedroom bright and unforgiving. Despite being tired and sore, she was awake by 8 a.m. and contemplating how to tackle the day.

Fiona had been given no instructions as to how long she was allowed to hang around the house. It wasn't like she had anywhere to go while she waited for Harry to fix her car. If Davy had wanted her to leave in the morning, he should have said something before disappearing last night. 

First things first. She needed a shower and to brush her teeth. Once she had made the bed, Fiona dug through her suitcase for clean clothes and her toiletries. The bathroom was the next door down, conveniently located across from a washer and dryer. She would make use of that later. 

Someone had been courteous enough to leave clean towels for her on the side of the sink. Probably Oscar, concerned for her comfort as soon as he learned she was here. In fact, she was struck by how tidy the place was. The towels were a little shabby, but clean. The house seemed a little run down, from what she had seen so far, but it wasn't messy, other than the clumps of dog hair that appeared here and there. Not what she would have expected in a bachelor pad.

She was tempted to snoop. Who wouldn't have been tempted, left alone in the house of their adversary? But she was no longer sure she could call Davy that. They seemed to at least be neutral after last night. And Oscar was basically her friend. She decided she would only judge that which she could see openly, and wouldn't open any drawers or closets that were not already open.

The shower water was warm. It relaxed her muscles, which were tight from squishing into the truck for so many hours yesterday and from sleeping on a disturbingly firm mattress. Fiona stayed in there a little longer than perhaps she should have. Whatever. Even Davy admitted he still owed her after yesterday. But maybe at this point she was taking advantage. After all, he had helped her to deliver the package for Marnie and then brought her to see the border. He'd called Harry to pick up her car off the highway, driven her back to Rocheux, and given up his bed for her. It was almost as if… no way. There was no way he _liked her_. Right? He was just helping her out of guilt. At most, it was because she was attractive. Men often went the distance for her, hoping to get into her pants. If that was the case then, a) Davy wouldn't be the first, and b) served him right if she used up all the hot water. 

Back in Davy's room, she dressed, made the bed and gathered her things, and then immediately broke her promise not to snoop. She opened bureau drawers, not looking for anything in particular, just seeking to satiate her curiosity. Lots of t-shirts and some jeans in one drawer. Another drawer revealed he wore boxers and boxer-briefs. Further down was a drawer packed with thick wooly sweaters. The slim closet had coats and a few nice button down shirts, but was mostly flannel, boots on the floor underneath, and linens on a shelf up top. The nightstand beside the bed was a hodgepodge of batteries, rubber bands, receipts, condoms, charging cables and tylenol. The only semi-interesting items were a compass and a set of old keys. Davy was boring as shit. 

Either that or the interesting stuff was hidden away somewhere else. 

Fiona commandeered the washing machine, filling it with nearly all of her clothes, and then made her way to the kitchen. Like all of the rooms she had seen so far, it was cramped. A table big enough for four diners was in the center of the room, framed by appliances and countertops. The walls, like the living room, were white shiplap. Peering out the window, she saw Oscar's car in the driveway. While she didn't think he would mind if she borrowed it, he probably had his keys with him on the boat.

Rummaging through the fridge and pantry, Fiona cobbled together a breakfast of peanut butter toast and orange juice, then turned on the coffee maker. While she ate, she plugged her phone into an unoccupied outlet, then realized she didn't know Davy's wi-fi password. She was almost out of data for the month. _Ugh_. This whole life on the road thing was not all it was cracked up to be. She texted Veronica instead, but didn't get a response, which meant Vee was probably busy with her usual Saturday morning chaos. There were moments when Fiona missed her own family chaos, but all she had to do was think about the exceptionally bad times to remember she had left Chicago for a reason. 

Having finished her toast, Fiona carried her coffee out to the living room and finally glimpsed the majestic scene stretching out before the large bay window. In front of the house there was a lawn of tall, stiff grass which, after 40 feet or so, suddenly transitioned into sand. The tide was going out, she thought, looking at the small waves crashing and receding. She hadn't realized last night, in the dark, that the scenery was breathtaking. Unlike the public beach, which was cleaned up for the tourists, this view was all natural. Rocks and driftwood intermingled with seaweed and tidal pools. Trees grew right next to the water line. There was no rhyme or reason to the coastline. It was chaos, and it was beauty. Did they take it for granted, to get to wake up to this everyday? 

Grabbing her sandals, Fiona went out the front door to the large covered porch with a swinging bench and a couple of chairs. She claimed the bench and rocked as she drank her coffee, salty ocean wind rustling her loose curls. Maybe this was why people lived here in this small, dull town. For mornings as perfect as this one.

Fiona went back inside to switch her clothes, noticing a closed door--another room--on her left as she entered. She turned the knob, but it was locked. Is this where all the secrets were kept? She looked up the stairs, which divided the locked room from the living room, and saw that the two rooms upstairs (one of which was Oscar's room) were both unlocked, doors hanging open. Why lock this door and not the others? She had an impulse to pick the lock, but it wasn't like she carried tools for that with her. 

After she moved her wet clothes into the dryer, Fiona washed her dishes, as well as the mismatched assortment of mugs and bowls and spoons that were already in the sink, stacking them in the drying rack as she rinsed them off. Based on the tidy state of the house so far, she figured Davy would appreciate that she had made an effort to keep it clean.

The beach was calling her and Fiona returned, this time with her sunglasses and freshly charged phone. She wandered around, taking pictures of the scenery from different angles and with different settings on her phone. The good ones were worthy of further tweaking in the photo apps Fiona had downloaded. She'd built her photography skills up over the last several months with all of her alone time. Although she was well aware that her camera's phone was nowhere as good as an actual high quality camera, she was still pretty pleased with herself and her new found hobby. She'd never really had time for hobbies before.

Seagulls squawked here and there. She took a few pictures of them, even though they weren't the most attractive birds. They were new to her, practically exotic, and that was all that mattered. 

It was nearing eleven as Fiona walked back to the house. She noticed that the window to the locked room was covered from the inside by a shade. Whatever was in there, Davy wanted to keep it hidden.

Her mind flashed back to the keys in the bedside table drawer. They were old school, straight necked and made of metal, with a few teeth at the end. They had to be the keys to that room.

An excited tightness rose in her chest. The thrill of doing something you shouldn't and getting away with it had always been intoxicating to Fiona. But she wasn't proud of it, and knew she would regret it later. Better to keep busy and try to forget that a mysterious locked room was just a few yards away, waiting to be opened. As she went inside, she made a beeline for the clothes dryer and started unloading her clothing, folding the pieces and tucking them into her suitcase.

Once she was finished folding, the feeling still lingered, and now she was out of things to keep her busy. A quick peek wouldn't hurt. And by her estimation, the guys wouldn't be home for a little while longer. When she'd been at the docks the other day, the ships hadn't rolled in until the afternoon. _Fuck it_.

Tiptoeing as if she was in danger of waking someone up, Fiona went into Davy's room and grabbed the keys from the drawer. She carried them to the locked room, placing her free hand on the doorknob as she tried the first key. No luck. Heart pounding, she tried the second key. A part of her hoped it wouldn't work, but the door opened with a click and she stepped inside.

It was dusty. She felt it in her nose immediately. Stuffy, too. No one regularly came into this room and cleaned it or aired it out. It was far more cluttered than the rest of the house and everything looked old. It was like Marnie's shop but horribly neglected.

The bookshelves and desk suggested that this had been a study or office of some sort, but there were also random boxes and crates of things stacked up precariously. It was as if someone else who was also a hoarder secretly lived in this house. Fiona half expected to find a dead body tucked away somewhere. The only thing that guaranteed she would not was the absence of the smell of decaying flesh.

Fiona followed the path between boxes to the desk. The chair sitting before it was a captain's chair with a flared back, made of heavy solid wood. Someone had carved a name on it: Pierre Wilde. The desk itself was covered in what she thought, based on her knowledge of boats from movies and television, were navigational charts. Or at least something to do with the ocean. There was an old tides schedule from 1994. A cup cradled pens and pencils.

Turning her attention to the bookshelf on her right, Fiona's eyes scanned the spines. Most of the books were old paperbacks or hardbacks from decades ago. Pulp fiction and Louis L'Amour westerns. Political biographies. Books on the birds and fish of northeastern North America. A medical desk reference for families. There were a few books without titles and Fiona realized they were photo albums. Jesus, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen an actual photo album. She had a few back home but none of them were full. There was a disturbing lack of photos from her childhood and Fiona preferred it that way. Although she did wish she had more pictures of her brothers and sister when they were little.

Sliding the first one off the shelf, Fiona flipped it open. It started decades before Davy was born, black and white photos of people from the fifties and sixties slowly transitioned to color and the seventies. As polaroids joined the 35 mm images, and ringer tees replaced polyester, Fiona knew she had reached the eighties. Now there were children. A woman and a man who both looked related to Davy were holding a baby. Fiona watched this baby grow up, a skinny, dark haired and dark eyed boy. He learned to swim and played tee ball. He lost his two front teeth and broke his arm. He had a dog, another Newfoundland like Bonnie. Then there was a second baby, and then a third. So Davy had two siblings. Where were they these days?

"Find what you were looking for?"

Fiona's heart slammed against her rib cage, the excited tingle in her body exploding in her throat and converting into adrenaline. Her body wanted to run, but she was frozen in place. How had she not heard the truck pull into the driveway? She closed the photo album and placed it back on the shelf, her brain racing into action to get out of this unscathed.

As she pivoted, she came face to face with a furious man. Davy was somehow even angrier than she had seen him yesterday after the accident. His jaw was clenched and his back rigid. A controlled anger. Sometimes that was worse than raw, open anger, because it was stitched together with disappointment. He looked tired, too. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"You need to go."

Fiona nodded. He was right. She had fucked up. There was no excusing this. And she didn't want to see what would happen if she tried.

Davy stepped out of the doorway and Fiona slipped past him, unable to look him in the eye. By the time she got outside, she was crying. She covered her eyes with her sunglasses, but it was too late. Oscar, who was outside playing with Bonnie, had already seen what sort of a state she was in. 

"Fiona! What happened?"

Bonnie ran over to greet Fiona, jumping up. Oscar shouted at her to take it easy and the dog whined but obeyed. Fiona ignored them and continued walking down the driveway, her suitcase kicking up gravel.

"Hold up!" Fiona was not surprised to see that Oscar did not know how to take a hint. He caught up with her and then joined her in stride. "Everything okay?"

"Yup," Fiona said. "Just need to go get my car and get out of here. Thanks for letting me stay last night."

"Alright, well… let me drive you! Stay here."

He walked with her until she finally came to a pause, and then ran back to get his car, Bonnie bounding exuberantly after him. A moment later he was throwing her bags into the back of a running car while she got in the passenger seat. Deja fucking vu. At least she had stopped crying.

They rode silently for a few minutes toward the beachfront until Oscar could no longer contain himself. "Please tell me what happened."

FIona sighed. While she hated admitting her mistakes as much (probably more) than the next person, she could tell that Oscar was ready to blame Davy for her dismissal, and that wasn't fair. She was trying to stop leaving destruction in her wake wherever she went.

"I did something stupid. He kicked me out. Right decision, if you ask me."

Oscar laughed uncomfortably. "Like what? What did you do?"

Bonnie had stuck her head through the middle of the two front seats and was resting her chin on Fiona's shoulder. 

"You know that locked room? I went inside it."

"Whoa!" exclaimed Oscar. Fiona flinched. "I haven't even been in there before. You're kind of insane."

"Tell me about it," she said. Why did she do stuff like this? Well, she knew where her lack of impulse control came from. Really the question was, why did she still do things like this even when she knew she would regret it?

"All I know is it's, like, his family's stuff. It was his father's study, back in the day. That's probably why he got so mad. That and it was a stressful morning. Someone's been cutting our traps loose, so we caught a lot less than usual. We can't stop them until we figure out who it is. Right now there's no leads."

Fiona said nothing, just leaned her face against Bonnie's snout.

"I'll talk to him. He'll get over it. He just overreacted."

"It's fine, Oscar. Don't bother. I'm leaving as soon as my car is ready." Famous last words.

Oscar's smile faltered. "Right, right."

Her phone dinged and she picked it up, hoping it was Vee, but the text was from Harry. "Fuck," she groaned, reading his assessment of her car. It would be more expensive to fix than the car was actually worth. He offered to find someone who would buy it as a scrap, to get her at least a little bit of money from the situation.

Money. Fiona knew how much she had. How much she had spent. How much losing that car had set her back. She only had one option. Go back to Chicago, back to clawing out a living from the bottom rung of the economic ladder. The adventure, and her freedom, were over.

Before she could stop herself, she was crying once again, quiet but unmistakable sobs. 

Oscar shot her a worried glance. "That's it. I'm taking you to Marnie."


	10. Take a Wild Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona appraises baseball cards.

The glass of lemonade in Fiona's hand reminded her of a specific day. Last summer. Rock bottom day. Punching that neighbor who had called the cops on Liam and his friend while trying to sell lemonade had been really fucking satisfying. If she closed her eyes and focused, she could still feel the slight crunch when her knuckles had collided with that woman's face. As long as she lived, Fiona would never forget that moment. She also would not easily forget the moments that followed: getting arrested, riding in the back of a cop car, and being held overnight. Not for the first time, of course, but it felt unjust that she should get arrested when, this time, she had been protecting Liam, not harming him. 

In the end, it was the wakeup call she needed, and Fiona could draw a line directly from that moment to this one. She had needed to get out of Chicago, or it would kill her. And now she was in Maine, hundreds of miles from where she started, realizing that Chicago wasn't the problem. She was the problem. That potent combination of bad luck and bad decisions wasn't a dark cloud she needed to out run. It was simply who she was. There would be no escaping it.

She had not told Marnie any of this, of course, when Oscar whisked her downtown and into the antique shop. Fiona had sat on an uncomfortable couch, one of those sofas with the fancy wooden edges that made it look like it was from the palace of Versailles, and let Oscar fill Marnie in with the details, because she was trash who couldn't even talk about what a piece of shit she was. 

After Oscar left, though, Marnie had not interrogated her or shamed her for her actions. Marnie was mostly preoccupied with Fiona's car situation, saying repeatedly that Harry shouldn't have told Fiona "like that," whatever that meant. Marnie had brought her lemonade and then walked away purposefully, and had been on the phone ever since. 

For several minutes, Fiona had just sat there, staring off into space and feeling sorry for herself. It was the jingling of the shop door opening that snapped her out of her reverie. Fiona watched a man enter the shop carrying a shoebox. He was an unnatural shade of orange, and wearing that classic hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts combo that Fiona had seen on beachgoers up and down the east coast, despite being the furthest in the United States that one could get from Hawaii. What struck her the most, however, were his mannerisms. He looked nervous. Jittery. But not friendly. In fact, from where she was sitting, he looked mean. His face was set in a tight frown.

Fiona stood up from the couch, checked her appearance in an equally ornate mirror nearby, and put on her best customer service smile. "Hi there, how can we help you today?" she asked him as she slipped behind the counter, acting like she worked there. The man's grimace softened at Fiona's appearance, but the air of sketchiness around him did not dissipate.

Marnie reappeared in the back office doorway. "Fiona-"

"No worries, Marnie, I got this one," she said, hoping the woman would trust her to handle this. Marnie started wrapping up her phone conversation. Fiona took the absence of a dismissal as tacit approval.

"Hi, I'm looking to sell some baseball cards," he answered, setting his shoebox down on the counter. "They're from before I was born. Belonged to my Dad. There are some real rare, expensive ones in there. Wish I didn't have to part with 'em, but my Dad just passed and we need the funds to pay the hospital bills."

Fiona furrowed her brows in concern and sympathy. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry for your loss, Mister-?"

"Franklin. Mister Franklin."

"Well, why don't I take a look at these, Mr. Franklin, and see what we can offer you." She took the box from him with a gentle smile and flipped open the lid, then started inspecting the cards with nimble fingers. After a few minutes of silent appraisal, with Marnie now looking at her with urgent curiosity, Fiona placed the lid back on the box and tapped it with the palms of her hands. "We can offer you twenty bucks for the lot."

The man's face immediately went red and he started to sputter angrily. Fiona Gallagher did not know the first thing about rare baseball cards, but she did know several things about con artists and creeps. This man was the former, at the very least, and they were about to discover if he was the latter, as well. "You've gotta be kidding me. There are cards in there worth thousands of dollars!"

"I am very sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Franklin, but these cards are mostly counterfeit." Fiona was smug, now. This next part was going to be really fun. 

"You bitch. How dare you?!"

"See, I think you already knew that. And you've been casing this shop for a few days. You saw one sweet, vulnerable woman running the place and thought you could get away with passing these cards off as real. You didn't count on me being here, though. And unfortunately for you, this bitch is from Chicago. So now you can either take the twenty bucks and get out, or we can all just wait here for the cops to sort matters out."

Silence. The man was staring Fiona down, clenching his jaw, and debating his next move. Briefly, Fiona worried that she had overdone it. It was possible that he could get violent. However, violence was always the last resort for people of his ilk. Violence would bring attention that he would not want. Still, if looks could kill, Fiona would be done for. He grabbed the shoebox and hurried out of the store. 

Fiona exhaled and turned to look at Marnie with a smile. She was staring at Fiona, mouth agape. "What just happened?"

"A scammer got a tongue lashing. Too bad we couldn't get the box from him, though. He'll just try it again somewhere else."

Marnie stood up straight, a look of determination on her face. "Well, he won't succeed. I'll post his picture from the security footage to my antiques sellers Facebook group and everyone will know!" She was getting fired up. "How did you know those cards were counterfeit?"

Fiona smirked. "Oh, just a wild guess."

Marnie shook her head but she was smiling. A second later, she was hugging Fiona. "That was so stupid, Fiona. You could have gotten hurt!" She sighed. "But thank you."

Fiona melted into her maternal hug. "It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me."

Marnie released her and stepped back. "Speaking of which, I may have found a solution to your most recent dilemma. Harry has a few old cars. Give him a few days and he could have one in running condition. Good enough to get you traveling again. And that cabin you stayed in before is still available. Elliott said he hasn't even picked up the key yet."

Fiona was speechless. After everything, these people were still willing to help her. She reminded herself that they didn't know her. Not really. Not the worst of her. And if she stayed, she would only bring ruin upon them, as well. She should do the right thing and leave.

"I couldn't. Thank you, Marnie, but I would never be able to repay such generosity."

Marnie laughed. "I'd argue you just did. More than you could ever know. But…" She trailed off, contemplating something, then smiled. "You could work here and help me out while Harry gets a car ready. It would give you something to do, and I could use a hand, as you now know."

Well, well, well. Marnie was a bit of a hustler. Fiona didn't understand how she had missed it before. The hallmark of a hardscrabble life. Perhaps she sold antiques these days, but Fiona was beginning to suspect that there was much more to Marnie than met the eye. 

"You've got a deal," Fiona said. She held out her hand and Marnie shook it enthusiastically. 

"God, it'll be nice to have some company around here!" the petite woman exclaimed before launching into an explanation of the cash register. Fiona's training had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to hold you over until I finish something more substantial. I meant to have more for you but, y'know, election fever took a toll. I promise the next chapter will be meaty af though. Hope you're all doing well!


	11. Lights & Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The carnival has come to town.

The computer beeped angrily again and Fiona smacked it hard. "Fuck you!" she whispered at the ancient and disobedient machine. They had been in a feud since earlier in the week. Marnie had been attempting for ages to bring her business into the 21st century without much success. Naturally she assumed that Fiona was a tech-savvy millennial and tasked her with figuring out the inventory software. This was a common fallacy amongst Boomers. The actual percentage of millennials who were "good at computers" was far less than 100%. But Fiona had overestimated her abilities and now she was wishing death upon a Dell laptop that had seen better days. Attempts at calling Lip and asking for help had gotten her nowhere. Apparently Tami was due any day now and Lip was too distracted to play tech support.

What she lacked in computer skills, Fiona made up for in obstinance. She refused to let the computer win. Several more clicks and keystrokes later, she was pumping her fists in the air, proclaiming success. "YES. SUCK IT, COMPUTER."

"Everything okay?" Marnie hollered from the other end of the store.

"All good!" Fiona shouted back. This was how they have been communicating all week. Fiona could not for the life of her keep track of Marnie's whereabouts. She didn't understand it. The store was a good size, but it wasn't massive. You shouldn't be able to lose a person in it. Yet she would be talking to Marnie one minute, and the next minute she would turn around and the woman would be gone.

As such, Fiona was often the person dealing with customers. (Who had greeted them before Fiona came along? Other than Davy being rude to them.) Despite years of customer service experience, she found herself exhausted after an entire week of helping people find odds and ends and knick knacks, of haggling on prices, and reiterating the no return policy about ten times a day.

She had to admit, though, that it felt good to be busy. Fiona had finally realized that a life of leisure was not for her. Being idle only made her anxious and unsettled. Work gave her life structure and purpose. She had even started running again in the mornings, from her cabin in in the woods, down the hill to the beachfront, along the boardwalk, pivoting before she got to the docks, even though the fishing boats were all out on the ocean by the time she got anywhere near the water, and back again. And in the evenings, she'd actually been reading to pass the time. Marnie had a whole used book section in the shop and Fiona had borrowed a copy of _Vacationland_ by John Hodgman in hopes that it would help her understand the people of Maine a little better, along with a stack of catalogs and magazines published for antiques dealers, all about appraising and selling. The more she knew about the business, the better help she could be for Marnie while she worked off the value of the car Harry had promised.

It was… weird living such a quiet life. She felt old and like she was a completely different person. But she supposed this was why she left Chicago, to figure out who she was in the absence of chaos and codependency.

The sound of the door jingling snapped Fiona out of her thoughts and she looked up, smiling as soon as she saw who it was. "Hey! I thought you'd come by to see me sooner. What gives?"

Oscar grinned, but his shoulders were hunched as he walked up to the counter. "I wasn't sure, after last weekend-"

Fiona waved her hand, dismissing invisible concerns. "It's fine. I'm over it. Things are working out." She gestured to the shop proudly. It wasn't the worst job she'd ever had. In fact, it ranked among the best. Certainly Marnie was the most generous boss she'd ever had. "How have you been?"

Absolved, Oscar's uncertainty dissipated and he stood up straight. "Fine, thanks. Kind of a rough week this week on the boat. What's Marnie got you doing for her?"

"Building a time machine to bring this store into the 21st century." Fiona smirked. "And once I've worked that miracle, I have to get this place on Instagram. Which I almost never use."

Oscar laughed. "How did she rope you into that?" Fiona couldn't help but notice the slight crookedness of his teeth. This was a kid who had never had someone to force orthodontia on him. 

"I showed Marnie some of my pictures from my road trip and she's convinced I've got untapped photography potential." She rolled her eyes at the idea that she had any potential at all. Whatever potential she had once possessed, she had squandered it a long time ago. Thirtysomethings didn't have potential. They either had established careers or they had lost causes and missed opportunities. Suddenly, she was eager to change the subject. "Tell me about your week. What rough stuff happened?" How easily she could slip back into the big sister role when the situation called for it.

Oscar groaned and leaned against the counter, shaking his head in disappointment. "We are under attack."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. 

"No, really. Someone is out to get us. One cut line is a weak rope. A dozen cut lines is a declaration of war in these parts. Davy is out for blood." 

That Fiona believed. "Are there like… lobster police or something who can patrol and catch whoever is doing it?"

Oscar grinned. "No, _but I wish_. That would be so cool." He was silent for a moment, looking off into the distance as he rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "It's not the end of the world. Davy wanted to close up shop anyways after this season. But we need the money from this season to fund our other projects."

"The brewery right?"

"Exactly. Well, for me and Ilya. Davy has his own stuff going on."

"Speaking of, when do I get to meet the elusive Ilya?" And what were the odds that he was more like Oscar than Davy?

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. Fiona startled and Oscar laughed. "Sorry, sorry, I just realized I forgot to invite you out tonight."

"Oh yeah? Having a party?"

"A bunch of us are going to the carnival tonight. Mostly to eat fried dough, but we'll probably go on some rides, too. You in?"

"Hmm." She had seen them setting up down the street yesterday, at the end of the boardwalk as far away from the smell of dead fish one could get. 

"Davy's not coming, if that's what's stopping you. But Ilya will be there. And his girlfriend."

"So when you said a bunch of people, what you really meant was three people." She watched his face transform from sheepish guilt at being caught in a hyperbole to puppy dog pleading, all big eyes and over the top sad face.

"Please come. Save me from being the third wheel. If they start making out on the ferris wheel next to me, I'll have no choice but to jump off."

Fiona chuckled. She liked his darkly humorous side. "Fine. But you're buying my fried dough. And it's not a date," she added, wagging her finger. "So don't tell them I'm your girlfriend or anything. I refuse to live a bad rom com plot."

Oscar smiled. "Nah, they wouldn't believe me anyway."

\- - - - - -

Bonnie wasn't allowed in the store--apparently she'd lost her privileges after an incident where she knocked over something heavy and expensive; poor girl had no idea how big she actually was--so Fiona had said hello outside before Oscar and his dog went on their way. They met up with Davy down the street, who had the audacity to look back in Fiona's direction, after Oscar had explained where he just was, she assumed. By then, Fiona was back inside, watching them from the window. She quickly looked away, pretending to be diligently working at the computer, although she doubted he could see clearly inside the store from that far away. 

Close enough to rattle her, though. Fiona commanded her pulse to slow down, go back to normal. _Knock it off_. When that didn't help, she breathed deeply, and turned her attention back to the task at hand: figuring out why the sales and inventory software Marnie used was duplicating every new item she added to the system. _This is ridiculous. I am not a miracle worker._

"Enough," she said to the empty shop floor. "I'm taking a stand. Marnie, you need a new system! Something designed in the last decade."

"I'm right here; no need to shout." Marnie's disembodied voice startled Fiona. She turned and there Marnie was, standing behind her, amused that FIona had nearly jumped out of her skin. Where had she come from? Fiona was starting to think she could apparate like in those Harry Potter movies. Well, witches were a New England thing. Maybe Marnie was the real deal. 

"I tried my best, but I think you need something that will just... _work_. Like Square or whatever the hipster bakery-juice-shops use."

Marnie sighed, put down the box she was carrying, then shrugged. "It was worth a shot. The modern sale systems are so expensive. BUt you're right. Just because I sell antiques, doesn't mean I have to be one. The time has come for someone to drag me kicking and screaming into the 21st century." Marnie cracked a smile. "Do me a favor and figure out which system we should get?"

Fiona nodded. "On it, boss." She turned her attention back to the computer. She would figure this out. Fiona was nothing if not a fast learner. 

\- - - - - - 

As she stared at the small closet in her summer vacation cabin, Fiona fondly remembered what it was like to have a surplus of clothes. 

When she left Chicago, she'd packed light. Luggage cost extra on a flight and, besides, she had no idea if or where she would ever settle down. Since then, she'd bought a few more items here and there--cheap souvenir t-shirts, versatile thrift store finds, new socks and underwear to replace the old--but her worldly possessions had never expanded beyond her suitcase and an extra duffel bag. Which had served her well these last few months. 

Tonight, though, it was a problem. She didn't need to get dressed up in the fancy event sense, but she also wanted to wear something more fun than denim cutoffs and a bland tank top. She had yet to discover where people in Rocheaux shopped for clothes that weren't fishing overalls. Marnie didn't sell clothing. Fiona's options were limited and she had 30 minutes to get ready before Oscar swung by to pick her up. She would just have to make do with what she already had.

Skirts and dresses were out of the question. One didn't wear a skirt to ride a ferris wheel or other carnival attraction. However, she did have a romper. It was linen (or a synthetic fabric like linen) and royal blue, with buttons down the front. Thanks to spaghetti straps on top and shorts on the bottom, it was a summer only outfit. If she was ever going to wear it, now would be the time. She paired it with her converse kicks and the earrings Marnie had given her last week, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, noting that she would need a haircut soon. Light makeup provided the final touches. It had been months since she had bothered to wear any makeup at all, or pay more than half a second of attention to her appearance, for that matter. She almost didn't recognize the woman looking back at her in the mirror.

\- - - - - -

"You clean up nice! Am I playing wingman tonight?" 

"No!" Fiona commanded, hopping into Oscar's car, half expecting to see Bonnie, but of course she probably wasn't allowed in the fairgrounds. "Do not under any circumstances let me go home with a strange man. The last thing I need right now is to bang a carnie."

"Yes, ma'am." Oscar choked back laughter as he waited for Fiona to buckle up before backing up out of the dirt driveway and back onto the road. She could have walked and met him at the carnival, but he offered, and Fiona liked the idea of not awkwardly waiting outside the fairground by herself while she waited for Oscar and his other two friends, Ilya and his girlfriend Becky. He had explained via text that Ilya technically lived with him and Davy--his bedroom was upstairs, across the hall from Oscar's--but that he spent most of his free time with Becky these days. 

She glanced at her new partner-in-crime and noticed he also had cleaned up for tonight. Oscar had donned a clean polo shirt, khaki shorts (not cargo--color her impressed), and a pair of sneakers that weren't beat to shit. "Wait, am I playing wingwoman?" she asked, brow raised conspiratorially.

Oscar shook his head. "Probably not." He paused for a beat. "But would you be upset if I maybe-"

Fiona lightly smacked his arm. "Of course not. Just give me a head's up before you drive off to pound town and leave me in the dust."

"I would make sure Ilya could drive you home."

"I'm gonna make you pinky swear that promise. I've got brothers. I know the kind of tunnel vision you all get at the slightest potential of getting laid." 

They parked in the empty field outside the fair's barrier, Oscar explaining that this place would be packed in another hour or so, and anyone who showed up late would be parking further down the boardwalk and have to walk the distance. Sensing he was looking for approval, Fiona commended him for arriving early as they approached the entry gate. A young couple were standing a few feet away from the entrance. The man was short, maybe Lip's height, with an eastern European face and a burly build. He had to be Ilya. Thus that must be Becky beside him, a petite blonde with a raucous laugh.

But why did she look so familiar? Becky turned her head suddenly to say something to Ilya, and Fiona had a flash of recognition at the sight of the woman's ponytail. She was the third person in the booth with Davy and Oscar that first day she was in town. She'd thought Becky was Davy's girlfriend. Oops. 

"Hey, guys," Oscar called out. They looked over, mostly at Fiona, and she could feel them appraising her, deciding if she was worthy enough to be hanging around with Oscar. "This is Fiona. Fiona, this is Ilya and Becky."

Becky groaned. "Oscar, knock it off." She turned to Fiona, who by now had paused beside Oscar, their little group forming an impromptu circle. "You can call me Beck. Everyone does. Oscar is just being weird and formal."

"Hi, Beck," Fiona said, signalling she'd gotten the memo. Silently, she prayed this woman didn't remember her from that day at the restaurant.

Ilya thrust a hand at her, and Fiona shook it. "Hi, Fiona. Oscar has told us so much about you."

"Good things, I hope." Because that is what you said to make people laugh when introductions were being made.

"I told them you were a selkie," Oscar interjected, "and that after tonight, you will return to the sea, so we better have an awesome time. Let's go!" 

Fiona furrowed her brow. "Wait, what the hell is a selkie?"

\- - - - - -

"First round's on me." Fiona set down four cold beer bottles slick with condensation, the glass clinking against the aluminum high top table the group had claimed in the beer garden. "They've got like five different kegs back there and dozens of bottles to choose from. Seems like a lot for a temporary bar."

Ilya nodded his thanks as he grabbed his bottle. "We take our beer very seriously in Maine."

Beck smirked. "A little too seriously, if you ask me." She and Oscar each took one, and Fiona took the remaining bottle, planning to make this one last for a while. She wasn't Lip--she could stop drinking when she wanted--but she didn't always like who she became when she did drink. 

It was Oscar who raised his bottle in the air. "To new friends and new endeavors. If all goes well, we'll all be drinking my beer at next year's carnival."

Ilya punched Oscar in the arm. "I think you mean _our_ beer. Unless you're already cutting me out of the business."

Oscar winced at the punch--Ilya was built like a boxer--but laughed nonetheless. "Right, right. Our beer. Cheers!"

Fiona, Ilya and Beck added their own _cheers!_ and they all clinked bottles, matching neon 21+ wristbands gleaming in the sunshine. What was it about a friendly toast that could make someone feel so comfortable around strangers? Fiona felt her anxiety drop a few notches in that moment before she even took her first sip. 

Fiona hadn't been to a carnival since she was small. Frank had taken her to one of the big Illinois county fairs--she didn't remember which one--sneaking them in through a hole in the fence. Mostly he was there to con people, but he let Fiona play some of the games and she got to ride the carousel, as well as a real pony. Despite the Rocheaux summer carnival being on the small side, Fiona already liked it more. Well, the bar was low. Any time she went out and didn't have to be anxious about her alcoholic father forgetting about her was bound to be a good time.

The group of four started with some rides, because, Oscar explained, it was a bad idea to fill up on beer and fried dough before subjecting yourself to a machine that was designed to make you puke. They rode the Yo-Yo swings, the Gravitron and Pharaoh's Fury, plus a few more with lots of spinning intende to induce dizziness. Fiona got to know Ilya and Beck better while they waited in lines. As she knew, Ilya worked the lobster boat with Oscar and Davy, but she also learned that Beck was a kelp farmer who occasionally helped out on the lobster boat or crewed for other fishing boats when she needed the extra money. They were blunt New Englanders, confident enough to say whatever was on their mind, although she could tell they were holding back from interrogating her. 

Until this moment, that is. Beck sipped her beer and then zeroed in on Fiona. "So, does that mean you're sticking around for good?" The _we'll all be here next summer_ comment hadn't been lost on Fiona either. Oscar was officially campaigning for her to stay. Somehow he had learned to be stealthy about it. 

Fiona shrugged. "I'm here until I decide to go somewhere else." She liked pretending to be some vague and mysterious global wanderer. It threw people off, usually, and then stopped asking questions. Not Beck, though, apparently.

"Like hashtag van life?"

Fiona shook her head. "I don't even know what that means."

"Oooh, you're a trust fund kid." There was a note of scorn in her tone. "I get it. Say no more."

"What?" Fiona was shocked, and then, once she had registered the comment, was mildly offended. "Fuck no. I am the furthest one could get from a trust fund kid."

Beck raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry. We get a lot of those types around here. They show up as tourists and then stick around, spend one winter, realize they've made a terrible mistake, and then hightail it out of here, back to New York or whatever big city they came from." This got a laugh out of Oscar and Ilya. 

"So I've heard," Fiona muttered, recalling her conversation with Davy the night they'd driven north. 

Oscar raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering who she'd heard it from, then nodded when he figured it out. "Did Davy tell you that? Couldn't have been Marnie. She's pro-tourists-turning-into-residents."

Fiona shot him a look of irritation. Could she not go one day without having to think about that jerk? "Yes. Beck is not the first to accuse me of having nefarious purposes." 

Beck laughed, and Fiona smiled despite herself. "I really am sorry, Fiona. You could have been the first Trust Fundy to have good intentions, for all I knew!"

"You're forgiven… if you go get me some of that fried dough that Oscar won't shut up about."

"Oh, hell yes." Oscar rubbed his hands together. "It is definitely fried dough time."

"Fair enough." Beck kissed Ilya on the cheek and smiled at him. "Be right back, babe."

"I'll help you carry plates!" Oscar followed her, leaving Ilya and Fiona to their beers, and an awkward silence.

Fiona drank her beer to stall for time as she racked her brain for something to say to this almost complete stranger, but Ilya beat her to it. "I didn't realize you knew Davy."

She sighed in frustration and Ilya laughed. "Yeah, mentioning him gets that reaction a lot."

"What is his problem? Someone needs to tell me. Oscar won't; he acts like the sun shines out of Davy's ass."

Ilya picked at the label on his beer bottle for a minute, no doubt choosing his words carefully, then looked back up at FIona and shrugged. "He hasn't had it easy. I won't lie. I don't know anyone more wary of outsiders than him. But he really is a good guy, when it comes down to it. He could have left me and Oscar in the orphanage. Instead he got Marnie to foster us--"

Fiona's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "I'm sorry, what? How has no one told me yet that Marnie is you guys' foster mother?"

Ilya laughed. "No idea. It's not a secret. I only lived with her for a year. Oscar lived with her for longer. I don't know that it ever felt like a parent-child situation, if you know what I mean? She didn't dote on us or anything. It was like… oh, I know. It was like living with your teacher, if that makes sense." 

She nodded. Weirdly enough, it did make sense. And hadn't Marnie said she was a teacher at one point? She could imagine it would be difficult to set aside one's teacher tendencies and figure out how to be a parent to two teenage boys.

"Anyways, about the time Oscar was old enough to get out of the system was when Davy's dad died, and we all moved into the house with him."

Suddenly, Fiona had so many questions she didn't even know where to begin. Before she could choose one, her phone dinged, and she opened a text from Debbie. "Oh, holy shit. I'll be right back." Without even looking at Ilya, she wandered off to a quiet location to call Debbie.

By the time she got back to the table, there was fried dough and another round of beers. "All good?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah." Fiona was smiling, slightly dazed. "My brother's girlfriend had her baby. I'm an aunt. For the second time."

Congratulatory noises erupted from the table. Someone swapped Fiona's empty beer for a fresh one. This time they toasted to her new nephew. Fiona even told them about her big (occasionally too big) family, leaving out the crazier details for now. 

\- - - - - -

At some point they took a break to go play games. Fiona even won a giant stuffed lobster. She tried to gift (or maybe foist was a better description) it on Oscar, but he refused to be responsible for it. "It's an eyesore and a burden," he joked. "You can't even eat it!" Eventually they made their way back to the food court, ordered more beers and more fried foods. The sun had set, and as the night went on, the beer garden began to resemble an actual bar, jam packed with adults looking to get drunk and possibly laid. Oscar disappeared, leaving Fiona with Beck and Ilya, who were gradually forgetting Fiona was even there, initiating more and more PDA as a result. 

It was still early enough for Fiona to walk home safely. She could use her phone as a flashlight. She scanned the crowd, and then politely pushed through several groups of people to get to Oscar, intending to tell him she was heading out, but her pans changed when she saw some guy she didn't recognize sock Oscar in the jaw and send him flying. 

At first, she was startled, but then the adrenaline hit and she crouched down to help him up. The other guy was yelling stuff. Fiona thought she heard the f slur and scowled. "You okay?" she asked, doing her best to lift him, but he was dazed and shaky on his feet. Folks who had been standing near them had cleared space, but were gawking at the situation, not helping. Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona could see Beck and Ilya trying to push through the crowd to get to them.

The other man was approaching them again. Fiona left Oscar to lean on a table and grabbed an abandoned beer bottle by the neck, smashing it into the table, then thrusting the freshly jagged glass in the man's face, aiming for his eyes. He was smart enough to back up. "Don't you fucking touch him," she ordered through gritted teeth. Ilya and Beck flanked them, mirroring the guy's two friends of his own who were now standing behind him. 

He glared at them, deciding whether or not to brawl, but security showed up before the fight could escalate any further. Seeing the state of Oscar, they rightly deduced that the other three were the problem, and a carnie escorted them away. Fiona heard someone say "you're kicked out" and she exhaled a sigh of relief. Slowly, she dropped the bottle neck, her fingers so tight that it hurt to release it. She took another deep breath and then shifted her attention back to Oscar. 

His nose was bleeding. Beck had staunched the blood with a wad of paper napkins. Ilya's fists were clenched and he looked ready to murder someone. 

Fiona was about to ask what happened, but thought better of it when she saw Oscar's eyes. He looked genuinely upset, on the verge of tears. And he looked young. Younger than he usually did.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Fiona spun around, ready to fight if necessary, and came face to face with one of the carnies. "You gotta go, too. All of yous." 

"No way. He started it. Look what he did to my friend." Fiona gestured to Oscar, but her protest was futile.

"Fine. They can stay. But you were ready to stab that guy. You gotta go."

"Come on." Ilya was trying to reason with him. "Those motherfuckers will jump us in the parking lot."

The carnie shrugged. "Not my problem. You either fuck off or I call the cops."

The group did as they were told, but not before Fiona retrieved her lobster and another wad of napkins for the road. She was grateful they were leaving, too, and that she wouldn't have to fend for herself. They took their time walking to the exit, but the three men were nowhere to be seen when they got outside the gate.

"I think we're good." Ilya was squinting as he scanned the parking lot. It was darker outside of the carnival, as if the gates prevented any of the flood lights or lights on the rides from escaping.

They hugged. Fiona promised Beck and Ilya she would make sure Oscar iced his face when he got home. Then they parted in two separate directions, each pair walking to their respective car. The coast appeared to be clear, but Fiona did not let her guard down until she and Oscar were beside his car.

Oscar handed her the keys. "Not sure I can see from behind these-"

The sound of scuffing on sand came from behind them. "Get in the car!" Fiona hit the unlock button on the alarm, but they weren't quick enough. Someone grabbed Fiona from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She screamed at the top of her lungs and kicked, but whomever it was, he was strong. The thought that he had done this before crossed her mind and terrified her, and she kept screaming, drowning out the sounds of gut punches and kicks. She glimpsed Oscar on the ground, curled up in the fetal position, while the other two guys were wailing on him. 

A primal yell distracted the thugs and, as Ilya came charging, tackling one of them, Fiona wrestled free and slammed her elbow up, ramming her captor in the jaw. Beck, who now had a hockey stick in her hand, followed closely behind her boyfriend and, as tiny as she was, took on the third, walloping him repeatedly with the wooden stick hard enough to make him cower.

Almost as quickly as it had started, it was over. The three goons sprinted off into the dark and Fiona was gasping for breath. 

Ilya was not done, however. "Fiona, can you drive?" She nodded. "You and Beck get Oscar home. I'm going to try to follow them. Okay?" He shook her shoulder when she didn't respond. "Okay, Fiona?!" 

"Yes. Yes!" But home? That didn't make sense. Surely he meant the hospital.

Beck was pleading with him. "Come with us! Please, baby. Please."

Ilya grabbed her close. Said something quiet in her ear. And then she was nodding. Sobbing, but nodding. He ran off.

Fiona and Beck somehow got a thoroughly beat up Oscar into the back of the car. Beck stayed in the back with him. Fiona was shaking so hard, she dropped the keys once before she got them in the ignition, but then she got it started. "Which way is the hospital from here?"

"We have to take him home." Beck sounded numb. Defeated.

"He needs a hospital, Beck! Tell me how to get there. Fuck it, I'll just get Google Maps." She started digging around in her bag.

"Fiona." Beck was whispering. "Fiona, please. If Ilya does something really bad tonight, we can't be at the hospital. We have to go to Davy's house and be his alibi. Please."

Hell no, she was not choosing this woman and her boyfriend whom she had just met over Oscar's life. Beck sensed her hesitating. "If it's bad enough for the hospital, we can go first thing in the morning. We'll say it was a boating accident. Please."

Oscar groaned out his opinion. "Home."

"Fuck." Fiona put the car in drive and turned left out of the parking lot, leaving a broken hockey stick and a dirty stuffed lobster in their wake.

\- - - - - -

Davy was waiting for them on the porch when they got there. Beck had called him, sobbing, on the way. He rushed up next to the car before Fiona had even hit the brakes, and had already opened the back door by the time she turned off the engine. Fiona got out as fast as she could, but there was no room for her to help get Oscar on his feet, and she stood there dumbly, feeling unnecessary.

As he got his shoulder under Oscar's arm and propped him up, Davy looked at her. "Did anyone follow you?" 

Fiona could tell, from the way he looked at her, that he thought this was her fault somehow. "I don't know. I don't think so."

As he and Beck got Oscar inside, Fiona closed up the car. She could hear Bonnie whining and scratching at the screen door, and her heart broke when she saw the dog's worried face peering out at them from behind the mesh.

Inside, Fiona raided the freezer, filling three kitchen towels with ice. Oscar was laying on the couch, and Beck was trying to keep Bonnie from jumping on him and making any potential injuries worse. Fiona placed one ice pack on Oscar's face, and he was able to hold it there himself. 

"Where does it hurt the most?" she asked. 

"My back." His voice was muffled by the ice on his face. 

"Okay. Turn on your side for me just a little bit." Fiona tucked the other two packs underneath him, trying not to cry, trying to keep it together. How was it possible that rural Maine was somehow _more_ dangerous than Chicago? Nothing like this had ever happened to her or one of her siblings there. Even that night at the diner when she thought things were going to get really bad, she'd made it out by the skin of her teeth.

Bonnie had calmed down and Beck was sitting in the armchair next to the couch. She had taken over holding the face ice pack in position so that Oscar could rest. Fiona got up and shut off the light, then looked around and realized Davy was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did Davy go?"

Beck shook her head and shrugged. "Outside, I think?"

Scowling, Fiona trudged outside, on the warpath. "Where the fuck are you, Davy?!"

He rose from behind the cab of his truck, standing up in the bed, holding a shotgun by his hip. "Go back inside or get up here. Either way, lower your fucking voice." He raised a second shotgun. "Got another if you're a good shot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have kept going with this one, but I decided to break it up so I could get it out to you sooner! I think my love for Animal Kingdom may be starting to kick in...


	12. Situation Handled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People talk a lot of shit when they're drunk and it's dark.

Who, exactly, was going to hear her if Fiona did not _lower her fucking voice_ , as instructed? Davy's neighbors were far down the road on either side. There didn't seem to be anyone outside other than them. He was just looking for an excuse to tell her what to do. Ordering her about seemed to be his new favorite hobby. Hadn't he learned yet that she was not the obedient type? 

A rustling in the trees bordering the driveway flooded Fiona with a new surge of adrenaline. She pictured the trio from the carnival crouching in the brush, waiting to attack, and she felt a tightness in her chest. Panic rising, she sprinted to the truck as if dodging invisible bullets. Davy offered a hand to help her climb on board, but she ignored him and scrambled onto the tailgate like it was a drawbridge about to close. 

Davy shrugged and sat down behind the cab, clearly using it as a shield in case of invasion, both guns draped across his lap. Fiona cautiously crawled over to him, sitting beside him, but leaving as much space between them as was practical. She eyed the firearms as she tried to get comfortable. There was a foam pad underneath them, but Fiona could still feel the flatbed's ridges underneath. Davy just watched her, a look of amusement on his face.

"I can't shoot," she admitted, her whisper harsh.

He snorted and shook his head. "It's fine. If they show up, you can stand there holding it. It might make them think twice about starting anything else. You just gotta make sure to scowl. Like your face right now. Yeah, that should work. Keep it up."

He was grinning. Fiona wished she did know how to work a gun so that she could shoot his shit eating grin right off of his face. Instead, she grabbed one of them by the barrel and yanked it from his possession. 

"Whoa! Careful with that."

"Not so hilarious now, huh?"

Davy huffed. "Let me show you some basics. Don't need one of us getting shot tonight on top of what happened to Oscar."

He gave her a quick but thorough tutorial: safety, trigger, action release, sight. Then he explained how to hold it. "Keep the butt near your shoulder so the recoil doesn't hit you in the face or anywhere else." For this, he moved closer, positioned her arms, his hands lingering. Or had she imagined that? "Worse comes to worse, just shoot. It'll help scare them off. Hell, you might get lucky and hit one of them anyways."

"Do you really think they'll come here?" Fiona's voice quivered. She sounded afraid and she despised herself for it. After everything she'd been through, this shouldn't scare her. Being held down, trapped, watching someone you care about get the shit kicked out of them was paradigm shifting. What would she have done if this had happened in Chicago? She'd have rounded up her Gallaghers and Kev and Vee and whoever else in the neighborhood wanted to help and made sure the attackers paid. But she didn't have her family or crew here. 

"Not if Ilya gets to them first." He lifted his cell phone. "He'll text me if he takes care of the situation. If he can't find them, and they come here… they'll wish to God they hadn't."

Something clicked for Fiona with those words. Finally she understood why Oscar worshipped the ground this man walked on. Davy protected his people like Fiona protected hers: fierce and fearless. If someone came for a Gallagher, they regretted it, one way or another. The memory of Ford strapped to a billboard came to her and she chuckled, then quickly covered her mouth to shush herself. 

Davy raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask her to explain herself and she didn't clarify. They sat in silence for a long time. Fiona watched the ocean, mesmerized by the way the moonlight glittered on the surface of the water. "What if they come by sea?" she suddenly asked. He laughed. She glared at him. Was he laughing at her because it was a stupid question? Fiona smacked him and Davy winced. "I'm serious! What if they roll up on us in a boat like pirates, instead of on foot or by car? We're exposed like this."

"Jesus. I'm laughing because you're quoting the Paul Revere poem, not because you asked the question. It's a good question."

Fiona took a deep breath. His validation calmed her, and the irritation retreated from her muscles and bones. "Paul Revere?"

"You know… _one if by land, two if by sea_? _The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere_?"

Fiona shook her head. "Is that a Maine thing?"

Davy looked appalled. "It's an American Revolution thing. They teach it religiously in New England."

"Yeah, I didn't pay much attention in history class." Too busy trying to take care of a bunch of kids, and Paul Revere wasn't in her GED prep materials. She leaned back against the cab, her head bumping the glass window. For a moment, her vision swam, and she realized she was still a little drunk. "Well?"

"They can't get close enough to do much damage. The inlet is too shallow." He was looking out at the ocean, his brow furrowed in thought. "They'd have to swim to get into firing range. We could pick them off before they even got to the beach."

This explanation satisfied her and they settled back into silence. Her mind raced. If they had followed her, they would have noted the house's location, and then gone to pick up weapons before coming back. She'd left her phone inside the house with her bag. The time on Davy's phone a few minutes ago had shown it had only been a little over half an hour since they got here. Depending on how far away they lived, they could still be a threat. She and Davy could be here for a while.

A sea breeze drifted across the yard and Fiona shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin. Davy shifted onto his knees and bent over a utility trunk, flipping open the latches. He plucked out a quilt and passed it back to her. "Got any pillows in there?" She was joking, but he did have a pillow, and he tossed it. Fiona caught it with her free hand. A moment later, he was sitting beside her again with his own pillow. No blanket though. He was wearing only a thin t-shirt and jeans. What was it with men and pretending they weren't cold? Whatever. Not her problem. Fiona tucked the pillow behind her and draped the blanket across her lap.

"Why do you store bedding in your truck?" 

"Camping gear."

He answered a little too quickly and Fiona narrowed her eyes. This information didn't fit with what she knew about him. She had seen how neat and orderly his bedroom was. There was no way he stored camping gear in his truck. He probably had a special designated location for it in his closet. So why was it here? 

Davy side-eyed her and then shifted uncomfortably. "Quit staring at me."

The face and words of someone feeling guilty. Fiona snickered. "Oh my God. This is like… your thing. How you get laid. You take chicks--like, what? Star gazing?--and then fuck in the back of your truck, don't you?" She chuckled. "That's pretty good, actually. Color me impressed."

"Jesus, Fiona."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"WIll you please shut the fuck up? We're supposed to be listening for car engines or footfalls."

"You didn't say I was wrong." Now it was Fiona's turn to wear the shit eating grin. She wrapped the blanket snugly around her shoulders and got as comfortable as was possible considering the circumstances. 

It was Davy who broke the silence next. "I sleep on the boat sometimes."

"Hmm." She needed more info before she was convinced.

"If I can't fall asleep here, I drive down to the docks and sleep on the boat. I keep the blanket and the pillows in the truck because there's no room for them on the boat. Alright?"

Fiona considered his story a moment longer and then nodded. "That happens a lot?"

Arms crossed over his chest, he shrugged. "A few times a month. Insomnia."

For a brief moment, she felt bad. This was something he obviously struggled with. But then she buried her guilt. Snark was so much more entertaining. "So you've _never_ done the dirty on this flatbed?"

Davy exhaled a defeated sigh. He shook his head, but FIona saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He was suppressing a smile. "Not recently."

Vindication. "Single, huh?"

"Relationships aren't my thing."

"No judgment here. They aren't my thing either."

"Finally, something we agree on."

The conversation fell away once more. Fiona closed her eyes, hoping to attune her hearing to the world around her. She heard the waves gently rolling onto shore and then back out again. All manner of bugs hummed a fuzzy symphony in the grass and trees. The leaves on the maple trees and the needles on the pines whispered whenever the wind whooshed. It was nothing like Chicago. She might as well be on another planet.

Fiona opened her eyes. Davy was on his phone. This was not inherently a suspicious activity, but from the moment that she'd been asked to drive Oscar here instead of the hospital, she felt like crucial information was being kept from her. What was really going on here?

"Why aren't we going to the police? And why can't we take Oscar to the hospital?"

Davy clenched his jaw. Fiona could see the shift in facial muscles even through his beard. He shut his phone off, pocketed it, and adjusted his Bruins cap before daring to answer her.

"I wish you had gone to the hospital. But you came here, instead, so now we lay low until the morning."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Fiona's voice was well above a whisper. "Both Beck and Oscar told me to come here. Why would they do that?"

"They shouldn't have, but Beck wants to protect Ilya and Oscar thinks he's protecting me." He inhaled deeply. "Ilya and I both have records. Ilya's rap sheet is objectively worse than mine, but the police around here don't like either of us. We make our own justice."

"I knew there was some shady shit going on-"

Davy cut her off. "Oh, because you're so perfect and have never done anything illegal in your entire life?"

Fiona glared at him silently.

"That's what I thought."

"He could be really hurt." Fiona was surprised to find she was suddenly on the verge of tears. The beer and the anxiety and the frustration were all bubbling to the surface and tugging the backs of her eyes.

"He's tougher than he looks. Trust me. Please, Fiona."

She summoned her self-control and swallowed back her tears. Not a single one spilled, but now her throat felt raw, and her words were raspy. "Earlier, he said I was a selkie. He was going to explain what that is but he never got the chance."

Davy chuckled quietly. "I can see that."

"Not fair," Fiona grumbled. "Tell me what it is."

He studied her for a moment, brown eyes intent. Her pulse stuttered. Then he smirked and she loathed him all over again.

"A selkie is a seal that can transform into a human. Or a human who can transform into a seal, depending on how you look at it." He explained that they shapeshift by shedding their seal skin. It left them vulnerable. For if someone found and took the seal skin, they owned the selkie, who could not return to the sea without their pelt. "Usually in a selkie story, it's a man forcing the selkie to be his wife. He locks up her skin and she has to get it back in order to escape. They're usually, er, tragic stories, but I don't think Oscar meant it as a bad thing."

Fiona needed to think about this before she decided if she liked the comparison or not. "What do you think he meant?"

"Just that you appeared suddenly and that one day you'll disappear just as suddenly. He's got abandonment issues. We all do."

"Really? A bunch of orphans? I don't believe it." Fiona's tone was sarcastic, but only lightly. 

Davy met her half way. Even smiled. "I know, right?"

"I could tell. I think that's why he and I get along so well."

"Makes sense." He waited a moment before asking a question that Fiona had not been expecting. "Who abandoned you?"

Fiona hesitated. "Um-" 

"Sorry, I shouldn't have---you don't have to--"

"No, it's okay. It's just... there's a long list. But the first cut is the deepest, right? And that was my mother."

Davy made a wincing sound in solidarity.

"She was bipolar. And an addict."

"Ah."

Fiona shrugged. "It is what it is. I've moved on." She tried to sound convincing, so that Davy would believe her, even if she wasn't sure she believed it herself. Davy didn't try to offer condolences or apologies and she was relieved.

There would be no more moonlight confessions that night. Fiona's murder of the mood had been swift and precise. They fell silent, the white noise of the night absorbing even the sounds of their breathing. 

\- - - - - -

Fiona woke surrounded by smoke. Wait, no. Fog. There was no mistaking the damp and the chill, even in July. She was warm, though. The blanket had done its job, but it probably also didn't hurt that she was huddled up next to Davy. Huddled was too sterile of a word. Although it pained her to admit it, she was full on snuggled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Was he still sleeping? Her eyes flicked up to check. Yes, he was, while sitting upright. The ultimate skill of the working poor was being able to catch some zzz's whenever and wherever you had a free moment.

Her gaze lingered a few extra moments. Fiona supposed he was handsome, in a blue collar sort of way. High cheekbones, a statuesque Roman nose, a slight cleft in his chin: his face was all sharp angles. Except for his eyebrows, which were bushy, and his eyelashes which were soft and long. (Why was it that men always got the best eyelashes?) She could see a few pock marks on his cheeks, hiding under his scruff, but whether they were acne or chicken pox scars, she could not tell. His lips were neither thick nor thin--just somewhere in between--and perpetually downturned at the corners. Davy had perfect Resting Bitch Face.

_I should not be thinking about his lips. Get it together, Fiona._

Carefully she extricated herself from his embrace, sitting up and then moving a few inches away for plausible deniability. As if on cue, he stirred, and his stupid eyelashes literally fluttered open. Pretending not to notice, Fiona checked her phone. It was 6 a.m. exactly.

"So…" Fiona had something delicate to say and she wasn't sure how to say it. "Are we okay to go inside? I really have to pee."

Davy smiled ever so slightly. "Yeah, all set. Ilya texted me a couple of hours ago to say the situation was handled."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked as she stood up, folding the quilt. She opened the utility trunk and set it inside. Davy dropped the pillows on top and she closed the lid.

He shrugged. "You looked so peaceful sleeping, it felt wrong to disturb you."

Fiona wanted to tell him off, but she realized that he had been awake when she had fallen asleep on her shoulder. That was a level of vulnerability she was not willing to face this early in the morning on this little sleep. Better to change the subject.

"Do I even want to know what 'situation handled' means?" She hopped off the tailgate and headed for the house. Davy was close behind toting the guns.

"Depends. How good are you at resisting police interrogation?"

Fiona smirked. "Gallaghers don't talk to cops. Ever."

Davy raised an eyebrow. "Good to know." 

She opened the screen door and Bonnie came bounding out, nose to the ground, looking for the perfect place to relieve herself. "I know the feeling," Fiona muttered to herself and stepped inside, tiptoeing to the bathroom. She really needed to stop making a habit of sleeping over at this house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!(?) Unexpectedly got this done early because it turns out that writing is easier to focus on when you're processing a failed coup attempt on your government than actual work. That's how it be sometimes, am I right?
> 
> That last scene is my homage to the great and perfect 2010 film, Leap Year, specifically the scene where Declan lifts his fingers from the arm of a sleeping Anna. SO good. If you haven't watched Leap Year, YOU SHOULD. I demand that you do. You will thank me.
> 
> Who does Davy look like in your mind? Drop a comment and tell me your fan cast. [This is my Davy](https://oryx-and-cake.tumblr.com/post/65297944588/hi-are-you-still-coming-shit-i-forgot) but he can be anyone you want him to be. Yes, I did revive my old crackship. No, I am not in the least bit ashamed. Crackships forever tbh.


	13. Product Placement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maine runs on Dunkin'.

Fiona recoiled from the face that stared back at her in the mirror. Eye makeup smudged beyond repair. Ponytail askew. And morning breath that could kill, she discovered, with a quick sniff test. Well, she'd been in similar situations before and knew exactly what to do. The toothpaste was offbrand, which was fine by her. She squeezed a neon blue line of it onto her finger and brushed her teeth as best as she could. Grabbing a square of toilet paper, she balled it up and wiped her eye makeup until she no longer looked like a goth girl who had gone overboard with a smokey eye. Lastly, she pulled out her ponytail all together and ran her fingers through her curls, a movement that revealed her deodorant had given up sometime in the night. 

The only options available to her in the moment were three different scents of Old Spice. She applied the most subtle one to her pits and prayed no one called her out or had a weird skin disease that she could catch from it.

Fiona caught her reflection again. The only thing she couldn't cover up or rub away were the bruises on her upper arms. She poked at the one on her left arm with her right index finger. It was tender. At work, she'd have to wear sleeves long enough to cover them. She'd given Marnie enough to worry about these last couple of weeks.

The house had come alive while Fiona was salvaging her appearance. She followed the sound of voices to the kitchen where everyone was squished around the kitchen table. Ilya had brought coffee and donuts back with him. Bonnie was circling the table like a shark. She would sit down beside someone for a few moments, eyes and ears at attention, staring at a donut en route to a mouth. Then, upon realizing that the person was immune to her charms, would move to the next person in clockwise order.

"Wasn't sure what to get you." Ilya pushed a white cup emblazoned with Dunkin' Donuts on it into her hands. "I hope regular is alright."

Was it? Fiona did not know what a "regular" coffee was. "Sure. Thanks." She popped open the lid's spout and taste tested it. Apparently "regular" meant too much cream and sugar for her, but she wasn't going to turn her nose up at a free coffee. 

"Fiona." It sounded more like _Fona_. Oscar's mouth was full as he called for her attention. "Hab m dont." _Have a donut_.

"You've got an appetite. That's a good sign." She surveyed the donut selection and picked up one that she couldn't name--it smelled like toasted coconut--and grabbed a napkin. The conversation resumed. Ilya was describing searching for the crew's car. He hadn't found it and was certain that, whoever they were, they were long gone out of town.

She went to lean against the kitchen counter, but Davy stood and offered his chair. "I'm done eating." 

Fiona nodded her thanks and moved to switch places with him. As they passed by each other, Davy reached for her arm. The skin of his fingertips was dry and calloused, but his hold was gentle. She allowed him to inspect her bruises. "They'll fade in a day or two." Fiona tried to sound unflappable, but Davy looked unconvinced, still frowning as he let her go. There was nothing anyone could do about it. The guys from last night were gone.

At least she didn't look as rough as Oscar, she thought, as she slid into the empty chair beside him. Beck had just said something funny. Oscar chuckled then winced. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

Fiona's brow furrowed. "Like how bad? On a scale of one to ten? Did they break any ribs or anything?"

Oscar shook his head. "I don't think so."

Her face settled into a disapproving frown. "You should go to the hospital. Or a town doctor or whatever you have here."

Oscar laughed again, but he kept it under control. "No doctors, neither."

Beck piped up. "I think the woman who was our school nurse still lives in town."

"Ooo, do you think she keeps a bucket of lollipops at her house like she did at school?" Oscar grinned. Fiona was unamused and bit grumpily into her donut. Oscar noticed and tried to reassure her. "Honestly, my hangover is the worst part right now. Maybe my body will hurt worse after the painkillers wear off."

"Hey, you take the leftover good stuff I got up there from when I fucked up my knee?" Ilya asked, gesturing upstairs.

Oscar's eyes lit up. "No, but I will-"

Davy tutted and wagged his finger. "No way. That shit will fuck you up." He turned to Ilya. "You were supposed to flush that stuff."

Ilya bristled and rolled his eyes. "Okay, _Dad_. I kept it for emergencies. There's only like three left. He can't get hooked on _three_ pills."

"This isn't up for discussion."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. She'd been on the receiving end of the stern version of Davy, but she'd never seen him be stern with someone else. It was… kind of hot. Holy shit, how deep did her daddy issues go? No matter. She did not want to find out. Bonnie appeared beside her and Fiona let her lick the donut crumbs off her finger, grateful for the distraction.

"Why did he even punch you to begin with?" Beck sounded tired. She had been sleeping in the armchair closest to the couch when Fiona came in this morning. "I know you didn't start the fight."

Suddenly everyone was looking at Oscar, who smiled sheepishly and shrank into himself ever so slightly. "I didn't start it but it was my fault." Everyone, even Davy, looked slightly stunned. Fiona tried to make sense of it. Here was a young man who was not known for starting fights. He'd been having a good time last night, even thinking about hooking up if he could find a willing partner. There were only two possible reasons why a man would lose his shit the way Oscar's assailant had last night. And there was no woman involved for the two men to fight over. Which meant… Now it all made sense why he'd said it was tough getting laid around here.

Suddenly, Fiona set down her breakfast on a Dunkin' branded napkin and leaned over to hug Oscar, burying her face in his shoulder. She did not know if he was out to the others, and it wasn't her place to tell them if he wasn't. What she could do was let him know she supported him no matter what. She released him after a moment and smoothed his bedhead hair. "Listen to me. It was not your fault. Don't you ever think otherwise." Oscar gave her a smile of gratitude. He looked like he might cry.

Beck and Ilya exchanged confused looks. Davy leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. "Someone wanna fill me in on what the hell you're talking about?"

"He talked to me first. Was asking about my line of work. He was so interested ins something so boring that I thought maybe he was actually interested in me, and just using fishing as an excuse to have a conversation. I flirted just a little, you know, to test the waters, and he didn't bounce. I tried to kiss him and _bam!_ Gay panic. My gaydar was off I guess."

Ilya banged the table with a fist and the whole room startled. "We're going to the police."

Davy stood up straight. Fiona could see how white knuckles were from gripping the top edge of the counter. "I would rather we took care of them ourselves."

"Yeah, but I wasn't able to find them." Ilya stood up, tossed a crumpled up napkin into the trash, and joined Davy by the sink. "The cops can take the partial plate I got and maybe figure out who they are, at least." 

As Ilya and Davy began hashing out their plan for violence and vengeance in hushed voices, Beck had the polar opposite reaction. She burst into tears.

"Don't cry; you'll make me cry," Oscar ordered, but it was too late. He was crying now, too.

Fiona held out her arms and they scooched their chairs closer to her before letting her wrap each of them in a warm and comforting arm hug. Why was she so protective of these people she had only known for a week or--in Beck's case--a day? Last night had been a bonding experience, she realized. It had accelerated the friendship. And now here she was, defaulting to the role she knew best, the only thing she'd ever been good at: big sister subbing for a missing mother.

"There, there." She rubbed their upper arms, kissed the top of their heads. "Beck, you were so amazing with that hockey stick last night. Like that fucking Game of Thrones girl."

Beck sat up and smiled, laughed a little. "If Arya was raised in Nowhere, Maine, she would totally fight with a hockey stick."

"And you," she said, looking at Oscar, "no more testing the waters. Get your cute gay butt on Grindr and only flirt with men who won't punch you. Or who will at least ask for permission first."

"I'm on there. The pickings are just slim." 

"Sounds like we need to go somewhere a little more densely populated the next time we want to party." Fiona had, much to her own surprise, just committed to staying long enough to party another time. 

Beck lit up. "Portland is fun. We used to go all of the time."

"I skipped it on my way up here. Wouldn't mind seeing it for myself."

"Sounds like a plan." Oscar sounded more at ease. Back to his old self. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Fiona was genuinely confused. 

"For coming at that guy with the broken beer bottle. If you hadn't done that…"

"Seriously, you were so fearless," Beck added. "I don't think I could have beat them with a hockey stick if I hadn't seen you threaten to kill that guy first."

Fiona cackled. "That was not even the most dangerous thing I've ever done."

Oscar gasped. "What the hell? You've been holding out on me. I want to hear every story where you shank a guy."

"Another time." She glanced at the clock up on the wall. "I'm supposed to be at work in a few hours."

"I'll drive you home." Davy and Ilya had finished their strategizing. The latter had disappeared deeper into the house and the former was reaching for his Bruins hat. "Beck, can you drive Oscar to the police station?"

Beck nodded and started to clean off the table.

"Wait, what? No," Oscar protested. "That's a fucking terrible idea, Davy."

Davy sat down in the seat Beck had vacated. "It's not a great idea but it's the best one we have. You'll file a report. The cops will track them down. Then you'll drop the charges and we'll take care of them ourselves." He placed his hand on Oscar's shoulder. "You know I always have your back. Ilya, too. Do you trust me?"

Oscar nodded silently. Davy patted his shoulder. "I'll see you later. Ready?" he asked, turning his head to look at Fiona.

Fiona grabbed her coffee and followed him, petting Bonnie before she slipped out the door.

\- - - - - -

"Pull over here."

Davy did as he was told, looking around as he stepped on the brake, finally catching sight of Fiona's humble cabin. "One of Elliott's rentals?"

Fiona nodded as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "It's cute, actually. I've grown fond of it. I just wish it had wifi."

"We can get that set up for you… since it seems you're sticking around?" Davy shifted in his seat, leaning back, his elbow sticking out of the open window. 

"I guess I am. For a little while, at least." Davy responded with his stupid half-smile. Fiona wanted to slap it off his face. "What?" she asked, defensive. 

"Nothing." He shrugged and feigned innocence. "It's a good thing. Oscar fucking adores you. You'll break his heart when you leave."

"You think I should go before he gets any more attached." There was a sharp edge in her voice. 

Davy shook his head, smirk gone. "That's not what I'm saying. I think… I think I'm a little jealous of how much he likes you. How much you understand him. I'm getting replaced."

"Oh." It was Fiona's turn for a smug smile. "I'm not trying to replace anyone. He reminds me of one of my brothers, is all."

"How many do you have?"

"Four." She laughed when his eyes bugged out. "And one sister. Ian is easily the sweetest and purest of them all. And the only one of them to get prison time other than me."

"Um, what? Did I just hear that right?"

"Oh, shut up. It was so long ago. And, no, we will not be swapping prison stories. That shit is staying buried deep in my memories, where it belongs."

"We'll see." He was smirking again. Fiona rolled her eyes, but she wasn't all that annoyed. After all, she was still in the car. Some part of her didn't quite want this weird morning to be over yet. "At least now I know why you threatened to shank a guy to protect him."

"That's not prison. That's just Chicago."

"Still, it was ballsy."

"Or stupid."

"Or both."

They laughed. They were getting along and Fiona was confused for the whatever-th time since she had woken up. "I'm sorry. About last Saturday. Really."

Davy looked away from her, eyes on the dashboard, and cleared his throat. "Well, you made up for it last night. You are… partially forgiven." He was smirking again. A callback to their ridiculous night making a delivery for Marnie and sightseeing at the border after his truck had collided with her car.

"Oh yeah? What percentage forgiven am I?"

"Forty-five, obviously."

"So we're even?"

"Yeah, we're even."

"I can live with that." Fiona popped the door handle.

"Can I ask you a question before you go?"

Fiona met Davy's gaze, unsure of where this was going. She hated that question in general, but it was even more nerve wracking coming from him because of how unpredictable he was. "Sure."

Suddenly, he leaned in close to her, his face inches from her bare shoulder, the brim of his hat just grazing her skin. Fiona felt her heart slam against her rib cage. 

"Are you wearing my Old Spice?"

Fiona inhaled and shoved him away from her. He was laughing. She wanted to laugh but wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She scrambled out of the truck and shut the door, appearing in the window frame to have the last word. "Kiss my ass, Cap'n Crunch." Satisfied, she stalked off towards her cabin.

"That's not a denial." Davy shouted at her retreating back. "You owe me a new deodorant."

Fiona swiveled to flash him a smile and flip him the bird, then watched as he drove off, leaving her in the shade of the pines and the hum of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, I have received no money from Dunkin' for the appearance of their products in this chapter. However, if anyone from Dunkin' is reading this, I am 100% open to endorsement. Please I have student loans.


	14. Choppy Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona discovers the joys of free time and the horrors of boats.

June became July and Maine lived up to its postcard promise. The sun was bright and the weather was beautiful, other than the occasional summer rain storm. At the shop, Marnie blasted the air conditioning to protect some of the more delicate wares that could be damaged by heat and humidity. Fiona had bought a zip up sweatshirt at the general store to leave in the shop for the really cold days. It's front was emblazoned with ROCHEAUX in a surfer-esque font, although--as far as Fiona could tell--there wasn't much of a surfing culture in this particular beach town. The longer she stayed, the more signs Fiona noticed of a town suffering an identity crisis. 

Well, Fiona could relate. She didn't belong to this town, and yet she kept putting down roots. It started with the hoodie becoming a permanent fixture at the shop, and escalated when Harry finally dropped off an old utility van to loan her until he could find her something, as he put it, "more fun." Part of her knew she should just cut her losses, take the van and go. Telling herself she would start making plans, she left the Rocheaux waterfront bubble and explored further out on her own, finally finding a grocery store. No more subsisting on fried fish and Cliff bars from the general store. There was, in fact, a whole shopping center in the next town over that was home to a hair salon, a gym, a three screen movie theater, and a daycare. (Whether the daycare was for children or dogs, Fiona was unsure. With its image of a child happily playing with puppies, the sign suggested maybe you could leave one or both there.) Rocheaux was remote, but not desolate.

Lip had confided in her that things weren't going well with Tami and Fiona felt that pull calling her back home. She should return. She should help. She almost packed up right then and there and drove the van to Chicago. Only the news that Ian had gotten early release stopped her. She could picture him telling her, "We got this." And she knew she needed to give all of them--Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl and Liam--space to handle their own shit. When she managed to catch Vee in an actual real time texting conversation, she encouraged Fiona to stay if she was feeling the vibe of the place. 

Then Marnie offered to start paying her, saying she hadn't known how much help she needed until Fiona had come along. Fiona accepted, because Marnie didn't annoy her, and how often did a non-demeaning job just fall into her lap? Fiona finished getting the inventory software up and running and then moved onto figuring out the world of online antiques dealing, which was an entire universe unto itself. At work, when there were no customers to assist or new inventory to manage, Fiona lurked on subreddits and #antiques on social media, calculating the best ways to profit. 

Marnie seemed content to make no money at all, a state of mind that Fiona could not understand. She wondered if Marnie was secretly independently wealthy and only ran the shop to have something to do. She had been married twice, after all. It was possible one of her former husbands had left her money. But Marnie didn't _act_ rich. As far as Fiona could tell, she was salt of the earth, far more at home talking to the local fishermen than the tourists who made up the bulk of her customer base. One day, a customer had complained, in between sneezes, about the concentration of dust, and Marnie had told Fiona to drop everything and grab the vacuum while she dusted up on the shelves. They deep cleaned the entire showroom. An authentically rich person wouldn't have cared what another rich person thought of their establishment.

Marnie also entrusted Fiona with her second late husband's expensive camera--another very non-blue blood thing to do. Was anyone obsessed with their own possessions as much as the wealthy were?--for taking photos for the online store. Marnie wasn't expecting much as far as quality, but Fiona was convinced she could learn enough to take better-than-decent photos. She located the library and borrowed books on photography. It turned out, she actually enjoyed it. Never before had Fiona had the time, space and means to start a hobby. She made the most of the long days and her new found freedom, using the camera outside of work to take pictures of everything from seagulls to cliffsides. Birds featured heavily. Fiona had never seen so many birds in her damn life, and she liked the challenge of getting a good photo of them when they were in motion.

It was the ideas, though, that made for the deepest roots. Ideas were a sign that Fiona was getting invested in her job, that she cared enough to dedicate brain power to it. She thought Marnie should diversify into vintage clothing. The market for vintage was hot with younger demographics. With a great camera, they could have a flashy Instagram, and sell clothes from dead Grandma attics to clueless college kids for a sizable profit. Marnie only made things worse with her encouraging responses. Believing in Fiona would probably only end in tears for them both, but Fiona couldn't help herself. She was like a moth to the flame when it came to the approval and trust of older women. She started tagging along with Marnie to estate sales, in charge of procuring clothing, contacting local interior designers to offer vintage decor for AirBnBs, and figuring out how to score big at storage unit auctions. 

Suddenly, an entire month had passed, August was on the horizon, and Fiona had somehow set up a life that had the potential for permanence. She told herself that she was just another member of the Summer Help Club--folks who flooded into vacation towns during peak tourist season to wait tables and clean hotel rooms, and then cleared out when the tourist dollars dried up. She would be gone by September. October at the latest. But a quieter, meaner voice inside of her said that she was staying for the usual reason: a person or group of people liked her and were being nice to her, and she was getting way too attached, way too quickly.

Speaking of attachment issues, Oscar seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet. The few texts she got from him explained Davy had them working double shifts, lobstering to make up for the deficit and patrolling the water for whoever was cutting their traps, leaving him exhausted. Beck dropped by about once a week though and Marnie let Fiona take a break whenever she did. "Yeah, I've seen Ilya like… once this week?" she had told Fiona over iced coffees one mid-morning. "He's lucky I'm such an understanding girlfriend." And yet there was an irritated edge to her voice that Fiona recognized from her own past. Hah. Validation. Avoiding relationships from here on out had been a wise decision. Possibly one of the best decisions Fiona had ever made, considering her track record.

She had wanted to ask Beck about the night of the carnival. Was she… okay? But if she asked, she knew it would invite questions about her own well-being, and Fiona was embarrassed that she just couldn't seem to shake the incident. She was having nightmares almost every night. The dream would start off innocently enough, and then a man whose face she couldn't see would grab her from behind and Fiona would be trying to scream and no sound would come out. Or she'd be doing something innocuous, like cooking in the kitchen back in Chicago, and then the men would be there, looking at her menacingly from the table. Fiona Gallagher was tough as nails. She was teflon itself. She did not get shook up over an assault where she hadn't even been the primary victim. 

She'd texted Oscar a few days ago to ask if there were any updates. Had they found the guys? "Dealt" with them? He had yet to respond. Was he having the same nightmares? The same tightness in his chest when he remembered what had happened? She typed a message asking as much but then deleted it instead of sending it, as if erasing the words would undo the damage.

Fortunately, Fiona had learned how to operate on little to no sleep years ago. She would just wait the nightmares out. They had to stop eventually.

\- - - - - -

"Fiona! I'd like to introduce you to Roger." Marnie was practically dragging a man up to the front desk. What had her so excited?

Fiona put on her best customer service smile and waved. "Hi, Roger. I'm Fiona."

"Hello." The man gave a nod as he greeted her. Fiona took in the details. Tall. Good looking. The kind of good looking that can't be trusted. Expensive watch. Sperrys. It all added up to _tourist_. 

Marnie released her hold on the man and launched into manager mode. "Fiona, would you be so kind as to take a break and walk Roger down to the docks? He wants to go on a tour of the harbor. You know, see the shoreline from afar. I told him that if you got there soon, you could catch Oscar and the boys before they leave for the day."

Fiona gave Marnie a quizzical look. "Um, I think they've been pretty busy lately. Aren't there boat companies that do exactly that? Boats that don't smell like dead marine life?"

Her boss gave an over the top laugh, then looked back at Roger. "Fiona is so funny. She has such a midwestern sense of humor." She turned back to Fiona, a more serious look on her face. "Sure, but Oscar gives fabulous tours. Trust me. He'll want to do this."

Fiona had never seen Marnie so serious. What had gotten into her? Fiona shrugged. "Okay. Follow me, Roger."

Outside, the day was overcast and muggy. They walked somewhat quickly in the direction of the docks, Roger because he was naturally tall, and Fiona because she was from the city and walked faster than pretty much everyone in this town.

"What brings you to Rocheaux, Roger?"

"Real estate investment opportunities. Sorry, that probably sounds both boring and arrogant."

Fiona laughed. "Actually, I used to be quite into real estate investment myself."

Roger smiled, no doubt pleased to have found someone who spoke his professional language. "Oh! Whereabouts?"

"Chicago."

"Ah, so you're here on vacation, I take it?"

Fiona smirked. "I'm here because my investments didn't pan out the way I hoped they would. What are you looking to build?" She changed the subject before he could ask anymore about her fuck ups.

"This region of Maine is primed for a new, modern yacht club. I'm just trying to find the perfect location."

Oh, God. Now she understood. This was Marnie trying to turn Rocheaux into a top tourist destination. Davy was going to hate this guy. And she was going to have to go along on the boat to make sure he didn't toss Roger off of it.

"You yacht much?" Fiona had been on a yacht once. A big one. She had no desire to be on another.

"Not really, to be perfectly honest with you. But there are a great many people who do. And the worse climate change gets, the further north they will want to go to enjoy their summers." He sounded like he and his perfectly floppy hair had gone to private school when he was younger. 

Fiona soured. Roger's amiable facade was covering up something more sinister. "Oh, so you're one of the people who's profiting from climate change rather than trying to fix it." She wouldn't consider herself a climate change activist, but she knew enough to know that people in her income bracket were going to get the short end of the stick. Plenty of people already had.

This critique didn't ruffle a single one of Roger's feathers. Well, why would it? He'd probably heard it all before. He shrugged. "It's just business. Not to worry. Being a socially responsible B-Corp is a prerequisite these days. We'll donate money to keeping the coast clean or protecting some endangered birds or something."

"You probably shouldn't mention any of that to the guys." Fiona thought it was kind of her to give him such a warning, but wasn't sure that he had really heard her. He started talking about his other investment properties and she tried not to roll her eyes. Maybe she would let Davy push him off the boat, after all.

Bonnie found Fiona before Fiona found the boat. Roger took a giant step back when Bonnie bounded up to them, barking at some seagulls that got in her way. Fiona crouched down, relieved Roger had shut up, and greeted the dog with pats and ear scritches. "We're close," she announced, suppressing a smile at the man's discomfort. Bonnie led the way to the correct mooring, and then jumped from the dock onto the boat.

"Oscar!" Three faces turned to locate the source of his name, and Fiona noted their reactions in turn. Oscar was grinning, Ilya was stone faced, and Davy offered her only a raised eyebrow. Skeptical then, and it irked her that he was right to be. 

The guys were hanging around the boat, their catch unloaded for the day. She guessed they had already eaten lunch and were about to head out for round two. "This is Roger." Fiona gestured to her guest, who waved awkwardly. "He needs a tour of the harbor."

The three lobstermen said nothing, just looked at each other, as if communicating telepathically. Finally, Davy pointed north. "The harbor cruise companies are up that way."

Of course he was going to make this difficult. "Marnie would like you to take him." 

Davy shrugged. "Don't care. We've got another haul to collect."

Roger stepped forward. "Look, I'm only in town until tomorrow. I can pay. How much would your afternoon haul get you?"

The mood shifted suddenly, from hostile to interested. Davy sized Roger up. "Five hundred bucks." Clever, thought Fiona. Though Roger could have afforded more, Davy went with a number that he might actually have on him in cash. 

Roger made a big show of pulling out his wallet and retrieving five one hundred dollar bills. He folded them up and held them out. It was Oscar who grabbed them. "Welcome aboard, sir." Both Oscar and Ilya reached out to help the man get on board, all accommodating smiles.

"Enjoy!" Fiona started to turn away, but a hand wrapped around her forearm stopped her. 

"Oh, no you don't." Davy had stepped onto the dock to wrangle her back. "You're coming with us."

Fiona pulled her arm out of his hold and lowered her voice. "I have work to do."

"So do I, but I'm helping Marnie out, aren't I? If I can spare my boat, she can spare you for an hour or two."

"Fine." Her voice was a whisper. "But only to make sure Roger comes back to shore in one piece."

Davy snorted. "Why wouldn't he?"

"You'll see." 

This might actually be fun.

\- - - - - -

Indeed, their harbor cruise started out fun. Oscar was a great tour guide. Animated and funny, he held Roger's and Fiona's attention with his elaborate stories about the history of Rocheaux. The town was founded by a group of French colonizers who were in a love-hate relationship with the rocky cliffs and outcroppings. The rocks were natural defenses, but they were dangerous to navigate. The harbor was their safe haven. 

The fun came to an abrupt end when, within 15 minutes of casting off, rain had started to sprinkle. Choppy waves accompanied the storm. And Roger, who did not spend a lot of time on boats, puked over the side in regular intervals, yet insisted the journey continue as he took pictures on his phone. Fiona had seen the frown on Davy's face harden the more he learned about Roger's intentions. 

When the rain intensified, Davy gave Ilya the order to drive them back to the docks. By then, they were 30 minutes out, and it would be another 30 back. He somberly passed out life jackets to Fiona and Roger. Oscar commanded Bonnie to get down from where her front paws were perched on the gunwale, and lay down on the floor. Fiona made a mental note of the life preservers and gripped the edge of the bench on which she sat. Davy ducked into the cabin to help Ilya navigate. 

Roger sat next to Oscar, chuckling despite everything. "Rather exciting, don't you think?" he asked, shouting over the engine and the wind. 

Fiona scowled and silently vowed never to step foot on this or any boat again.

\- - - - - -

Drenched, Fiona struggled to get her lifejacket off, her wet hands unable to get a firm grip on the smooth plastic of the buckles. 

"I'll get it." Davy batted her hands away and something inside Fiona pulsed at the touch of his fingers. She heard the click of the lifejacket coming undone. He lifted it up and she stepped out of the orange vest.

"Thanks."

They were alone on the boat. The rain had abated back to a drizzle. Glad to have the rest of the afternoon off, Oscar and Ilya had offered to take Roger around town, no doubt to try to fleece him for more funds in whatever way they could finagle. It was clear to Fiona, now, that these were her sort of people, but the coastal Maine version. 

"What was that guy's deal?"

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Do we have to do the interrogation now? It's raining."

"We can get it over with now, or I can hunt you down later."

"You should really ask Marnie."

"I'm not asking Marnie. I'm asking you."

Fiona swallowed. That sternness again. She needed to get out of here before she did something stupid. "He wants to build a yacht club or something. Capitalize on climate change. Couldn't you tell?"

He looked up at the clouds and sighed, frustrated. "Okay."

Fiona studied him, but he was refusing to make eye contact. "Wait… are you mad at _me_? I'm just the messenger."

"I'm not mad, I'm just dis-"

She interrupted him with a smack to the bicep. "Don't you fucking dare."

Caught off guard, Davy laughed. "Jesus, Gallagher. Relax. And get off my boat. I got shit to do. Puke to clean." He pointed to the starboard side of the boat, where Roger's vomit had no doubt blown back onto the hull.

"Gladly." She spun around and climbed up on the bench, then onto the dock, and headed back to Marnie's, forcing herself to think about work instead of wondering if Davy was watching her walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, you're like... ANOTHER new character, oryx_and_cake?? Just trust me. He's here for a reason. This is where my love of Fargo is starting to insert itself.
> 
> Also, the rest of the fic is plotted out. Hell yes! However, I have no idea how long it is going to take to finish. I think it roughly translates to like a 10 episode season of television. Sorry but [I never half-ass anything. Always whole-ass.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6hZ9KdG1QU) Always.


	15. Code Name: Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two people go to elaborate lengths to get each other's digits.

Oscar (and Bonnie) came over for dinner to fill Fiona in on what happened with Roger post-puking. He brought freshly bottled beers from his basement brewery and a bag of charcoal. Fiona supplied the food and did the cooking.

"He's actually pretty cool. I told him about my brewery plans and he had a ton of business school advice." Ah, so it wasn't money he wanted, but expertise. "Of course, some of it is making me question the whole idea-"

"What do you mean?" Fiona flipped the burgers on the grill. It had been a storage unit find. Just a basic charcoal Weber, nothing fancy. But it wasn't something Marnie could sell at the shop so she told Fiona to keep it. The scent of cooking beef filled the air around them, keeping the early evening mosquitoes at bay. A few feet away, Bonnie was laying on the ground, drooling as she watched Fiona's every move. She reached for the cheese, peeled off a couple of slices, and slapped them on the burgers.

Oscar shrugged. "Well, he pointed out that the microbrewery market is, uh… oh, saturated. That's the word he used. And that if you don't have something really solid and exciting, it's hard to get your footing."

Fiona frowned. "Hmmph." People with MBAs always pushed their weight around. And their weight was always just enough to crush the little guy's dreams. 

Oscar sat down in the folding camp chair--another storage unit auction furnishing--and stuck his legs straight out, crossing one ankle over the other. "I'm not giving up. I just need to rework the idea a little bit. So what do you think?"

"Of Roger?"

"Of the beer!"

"Right. Sorry. It's really good!" She looked at the bottle in her hand. "Not too... hoppy? Or whatever that flavor is that makes the microbrewery stuff taste like ass."

Oscar laughed. "That's helpful. Thanks."

"And that's why you shouldn't listen to Roger. What does he know, anyway? He's a real estate guy. Probably just talking out his ass to sound important."

"He did give me his card and said to call him if I had questions."

"Did you Google him?"

"Not yet."

Fiona pointed at him, going into Mama Bear mode. "Make sure you do before you start trusting his advice."

"Yes, ma'am." 

Grabbing the bag of rolls, Fiona laid two out, one on each plate, and transported the burgers from the grill to their respective bun. Oscar stood and took the plate that she offered him. Ketchup, mustard, potato chips. Nutritious it was not, but damn it was delicious.

"Oh!" Oscar nearly spilled his plate and beer in his haste to tell Fiona something. "So, we usually have a big Fourth of July party every year, but it didn't happen this year due to... you know, me not feeling well and also all the extra hours we've been working. So we're gonna have it in August instead. August tenth. Davy promised me he won't make us work that night or the 11th."

Fiona assumed the "we" to which Oscar referred was him, Ilya and Davy. "Where?"

"Just on the beach in front of the house. There's a cover charge, but I'll waive it for you. You're VIP."

"Damn right I'm VIP. That's a few days before my birthday."

"Whaaaat. No way. Oh shit. This changes everything. I'm getting a cake-"

"Hold up. I did not mean that you should make me the center of attention. You do _not_ need to buy a cake."

"Fiona!" His shout was so forceful and unexpected that she actually flinched. "Do not try to take away a man's excuse to eat birthday cake."

Fiona cackled. "Fine, fine."

"What's your actual birthday?"

"The twelfth."

"How old are you turning?"

"Thirty."

"Oh shit. You and Davy are almost the same age. He'll be thirty in January."

"Go figure." Fiona set her empty plate down on the ground beside her, and leaned back in her chair to get more comfortable as she drank the last few sips of her beer.

"Yup. He's actually kind of grouchy about it because he always said he'd have sailed the world by now. It just... never happened. Too many setbacks."

"Life happens," she said, not very sympathetically. "Are you ready for s'mores?"

"I was born ready for s'mores. Lemme at those marshmallows."

\- - - - - -

The next morning, Fiona arrived to work early and stumbled upon a meeting.

Marnie was there, of course, and seemed to be in charge. Her brothers, Harry and Elliott, mechanic and landlord, respectively, were also present. The rest of the circle of elders consisted of folks who Fiona didn't recognize, but they seemed to know who she was, and smiled at her approach.

"Good morning." Her greeting was sincere but wary. What was going on?

"Hi, Fiona! Don't mind us. It's our weekly Rocheaux Tourism Bureau meeting." Marnie then introduced the few people she did not know. Freddy Jr. of Freddy's Fish Shack, which was actually named for dearly departed Freddy Senior, and the neighboring Fredo's Pizza, Cindy who owned The General Store, and a man named Bert who owned Mary Lou's Ice Cream and Coffee. (Mary Lou was not real and had never been real, as it turned out.)

"Love your coffee," Fiona told him, raising the iced coffee cup she was currently holding as they shook hands, and she meant it. 

"Fiona, please tell everyone what you thought of Roger."

"Um…" Fiona got the sense that Marnie wanted her to approve of him. "He was… alright? I guess?"

Harry groaned. "I told you that guy was a dead end."

Marnie gave him a look. "Now hold on a minute. Fiona, hun, could you elaborate? Did he seem trustworthy?"

Fiona considered this question. Would she trust him to raise children? Probably not lest they end up morally bankrupt. Would she trust him to make her a lot of money? Hell yeah. After ordering Oscar to Google him last night, she had done so herself. The guy was rich as fuck. "I would not want to be friends with him, but he seemed like an honest businessman. And I suppose... he didn't take himself too seriously." As evidenced by his own reaction to being sick on the boat. "Did you, like, recruit him?"

Elliott paused his perpetual phone tapping to chime in. "We invited him to scout Rocheaux for his company's big marina project. It could be very good for this town if he decides to build here. Lots of jobs would be created and we all stand to make a lot of money."

They wanted this? Harry saw Fiona's alarmed reaction and nudged her. "You look like you got something to say. Don't hold back."

Fiona shook her head--her opinion didn't matter to these people--but Harry kept encouraging her. She sighed. "It's just… gentrification can happen anywhere. I've seen it wreck an entire city. If Roger builds that yacht club, or whatever, what's to stop other, higher end businesses from moving in, stealing your customers, and forcing you out?" Fiona frowned, the sheer memory of the number of yoga studios that had inundated the South Side enough to fill her with rage.

Harry laughed. "She's a smart cookie, this one. Marnie, you better keep Fiona around."

"It's a good point," Marnie agreed. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood up straight, suddenly formidable. Fiona had never seen her so serious. "But it's also a risk I'm willing to take. The alternative is that our town continues to empty out, all of our young people leaving for big cities, until eventually there's no one left. It's death or development." She paused her speech and looked each person in the huddle directly in the eyes. "And I choose development."

\- - - - - -

The last night of July, Fiona woke up at 1 a.m. drenched in her own sweat.

Not from the heat. It was chilly, a cool breeze drifting into the bedroom from the screened-in window. And not a fever. She wasn't sick. Like so many other nights this month, it was a nightmare, one so intense that the stress of it had affected her body. 

Fiona sat up and replayed the scene over in her mind. 

_She is in a location she does not recognize. Urbaneqsue but not Chicago or New York or Boston, or any of the other cities she had driven through recently. Day time but the street is barren. She needs a bottle of water and enters a shopping center. Deeper into the building she goes, looking for some place to buy water, but it's mostly empty restaurants and clothing stores. In a dimly lit corridor, she sees a Going out of Business sign. Everything Marked Down. No Gallagher can resist markdowns. She steps inside and discovers that the store sells… Looney Tunes merchandise. Tee shirts, stuffed animals, memorabilia. It's a capitalistic shrine to arguably the least popular animated properties. Forget it. She turns to leave, but the door she entered through isn't where she left it. Where did it go? She wanders looking for the exit. A man she has never seen before, tall and blonde, bad skin, overly friendly, welcomes her. He is the manager. He is sad that his store is closing but shrugs. What can he do? No one cares about Looney Tunes anymore. He offers to show Fiona around. "I'm just looking, thanks." And she does look. There are mountains of Tweety Bird plushies. Bugs Bunny's face stares out at her from racks and racks of shirts and hoodies. The man is behind her now, too close. She turns to push him off but he is pressing her against a wall. She is reaching for merchandise, beating him with it, kicking and screaming at him, making him angry. Then she realizes this is only a dream and wakes up._

For a few frightening moments, Fiona couldn't breathe. The dream was ridiculous and she might have laughed if not for the panic rising in her chest. She closed her eyes, searched her mind for something to distract herself. The first thing she thought of was Ian's early release. He must be home by now. She texted him, assuming he wouldn't see it until the morning. _Thinking about u!_ Then she got up, too freaked out to go back to sleep.

Downstairs, she pulled a half full bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and swallowed a few gulps directly from it, not bothering with a glass. Just to take the edge off, she told herself, but then she carried it with her to the couch, cradling it in her arms like a baby. She polished it off as she watched late night PBS. Christiane Amanpour wass talking about Syria with some other journalists. Fiona had no idea what any of it meant, other than that the people of Syria were fucked, but it had worked. She was calm, now. 

She surveyed her camera gear sprawled out on the coffee table, lenses and memory cards askew. For a moment, she stared at the parts, then started packing them up. She'd been meaning to take some pictures at night, get some practice setting the camera up correctly. There was no way she was getting back to sleep tonight, and the birds would arrive to torture her with their morning sonatas soon enough, so she might as well make good use of these unexpected waking hours. 

\- - - - - -

Her feet moved according to muscle memory, down the hill to the ocean. She paused every so often to take photos of the seaside town, checking the screen to see if she had gotten the settings right. The moon was bright, and it illuminated her shots naturally, no artificial lights needed. 

Unlike Chicago, Fiona had learned, summer nights in Maine were cold. She had pulled on a ratty old heather grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, but this apparently was not enough of a signifier that she was not to be fucked with. At around 2 a.m., the boardwalk was surprisingly not empty. She crossed paths with a couple of fishermen. Or at least, she assumed that's what they were from the odor they emanated. One of them whistled at her. "Hey, baby. You new? How much you charge?"

Her heart thudded against her ribcage and adrenaline seeped into her veins. "Fuck off." She didn't even turn to look at them. 

He winced. "Hey, is that any way to treat a potential customer?"

"I swear to God-"

"Gallagher?"

She knew who it was from the sound of his voice. His truck rumbled low behind her.

With a huff she spun on her heels. "Yeah?" She was not in the mood tonight for any of his snark.

Davy didn't respond, looked over at the two men instead. "Guys, she's not a prostitute."

"Oh, our bad! Sorry about that." They turned around and continued on their way. They sounded genuinely apologetic, which confused Fiona, and she watched them walk away, mouth agape, in stunned silence.

Davy cleared his throat, and Fiona snapped out of her daze. "What... are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" It was childish, she knew, but she was still in fight or flight mode. And she had picked fight over flight.

His expression said, _what the hell_? They stared at each other, Fiona scowling, for another few moments, until Davy extended an olive branch. "I told you… when I can't sleep, I try to sleep on the boat. Remember?"

Fiona nodded. He had told her that. Fuck, she could be such an asshole. He didn't look mad, though. If anything, he seemed amused.

He gestured to her camera. "Are you a photographer, now?"

"Sort of."

He looked at his watch, then out at the ocean, then back to Fiona. "Well, if you finish up and want some company, you know where to find me." Not a demand, merely an open invitation. He had learned to tread carefully with her. He put the truck into drive and cruised off towards the docks.

She knew her walk would take her to his boat eventually--it would be foolish to deny it. And she couldn't even blame the wine because it had mostly worked its way out of her system by now. But she took her time in hopes that he would be asleep by the time she arrived. He was not. He was reclining on a row of crates, reading a book by the light of the dock lamps. As she approached, he sat up, adjusted his hat and set the book down. 

"What are you reading?"

He held up the book so that she could read the spine. _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance._

"My brother repairs motorcycles. He's not very zen, though." This got a snort out of Davy. Fiona stepped from the dock and onto the boat, a little more sure footed than when she had done so a few days ago with Roger. She sat on the crates, but left a good amount of space between them, anxious about what she might try to do if she sat too close to him. Then she took the camera strap off from around her neck and set the camera down beside her. The gear bag followed. They got heavy after a while. She rubbed the back of her neck.

"Can I see your pictures?"

Fiona turned the screen on and set it to view the photos already on the memory card, then passed it to him. He flipped through the library of images in silence. She had taken thousands of pictures over the last several weeks. Was he going to look at all of them? She tuned out, turning her face towards the wind and closing her eyes, letting the salty air wash over her. She had read once that large bodies of water changed the air in such a way that helped people relax. It was the same with the air before a thunderstorm. She didn’t know if it was true or not but, in that moment, she believed it was.

“It’s cool how you can track your progress. Your pictures are way better now than when you started.” 

“I'm still learning.”

"Better than any pics I ever took." He handed it back to her and she turned it off. "How was dinner with Oscar the other night?"

She remembered what he said all those weeks ago about how he thought she might be replacing him as Oscar's favorite surrogate sibling. Did he genuinely want to know or did he feel left out? "It was nice. I finally got to taste his beer. It's really good."

"I know."

"But you said-"

"Me not wanting him to invest a bunch of money into producing it doesn't have anything to do with whether it's good or not." He leaned back, draping his arms across the gunwale. "He doesn't know what he's doing."

Fiona scoffed. "You know that Roger guy told him not to do it either. How does that make you feel to be in agreement with someone like him?"

Davy shrugged. "I'm not happy about it but I guess it proves I'm right."

"Oh, please. You love being right."

He smirked. "Okay, yeah, that's true."

Rolling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, Fiona pulled up her legs to sit cross legged on the crate, angling herself toward Davy so that she could talk to him without craning her neck. "He just needs someone to partner with. Someone who can run the business side of things while he focuses on the brewing."

"Well, unless you know an aimless business major looking for an uncertain opportunity, we're shit outta luck."

"Just find a hapless trust fund kid who needs a project." They both cracked a smile. Then Fiona got serious again. "He needs to get started soon. It sounds like that yacht club is coming whether you like it or not. If he can have his brewery ready to go by the time it's open-"

"Wait, who said it was a sure thing? Marnie?"

Fiona hesitated, then decided, what difference did it make? Marnie hadn't sworn her to secrecy. And it wasn't like Davy could stop her. "At her tourism cabal meeting the other day. It sounded like she was all in."

Now it was Davy's turn to scoff. "Fiona, she does this every year. Promotes some big development for the town. It either never gets off the ground or it falls through in the planning stages. It's not happening."

"You didn't hear what I heard." 

Davy just shook his head and said nothing. For a few minutes, they were quiet, the only sound that of the waves slapping gently against the hull. The rocking motion of the boat was making her kind of sleepy, but she knew what she would see if she tried to go back to sleep. 

Something occurred to her. "You don't want him to build a bigger brewery because he'd be choosing Marnie and her vision for Rocheaux over you and yours."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't have a vision for Rocheaux. I just see it how it is: a dying town that has outlived its natural life."

"Damn. That is _dark_."

"I'm not a silver linings kind of guy."

Fiona bit her lip. "I know," she said, suddenly flirty. "That's what I like about you."

She watched as he tried not to smile, but the corner of his mouth slipped and gave him away.

He looked at her. "You wanna hear something funny?" She rested her chin in her hand and nodded. "Ilya thought you were a spy."

"I'm sorry, he thought I was what now?"

"You showed up about the same time someone started cutting our traps. And then you were snooping around. He said we should run you off because you were obviously working for whoever was messing with our lines."

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Yup, that's me. A secret agent!" They burst out laughing. 

"You're off the hook now, anyway." Fiona groaned at his fishing pun, but Davy was undeterred. "His new theory is that Roger is somehow behind it." So while Oscar had been getting business tips, Ilya had been sussing Roger out. "He's a moron. But he used to be a moron I could rely on."

"Used to be?"

Davy cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He was about to do something that would spin his moral compass to a bearing of _disloyal_. "I located the assholes who attacked you and Oscar that night. Well, one of them anyway. I know where he lives. We could send a message. But he won't do it. I know it's because he doesn't want to go back to prison. He's got a good thing going with Beck. I understand that. I just have to figure out how to do it alone."

The tightness had returned to her chest, pulling on the back of her sternum. "Can Oscar help?"

Davy shook his head emphatically. "Absolutely fucking not. I haven't even told him I know where he lives. I don't want him getting mixed up in anything that could have consequences."

"Let me help."

"What?"

She had said it without thinking. And now that she heard it out loud, it sounded crazy, but she realized it might be the only way she would ever sleep again. Revenge, in her experience, was an extremely effective remedy for whatever wrongs one had experienced.

"I can help. I'm not scared. Of doing something. I'm scared of what could happen if we don't."

He squinted slightly, studied her. She held his gaze, determined that he would see how she meant every word, how badly she needed this.

"Alright, Gallagher. Have it your way.”

Fiona held out her hand. “Phone, please.”

He raised an eyebrow but nonetheless unlocked his phone and passed it to her. Resisting the compulsion to snoop, she went directly to his contacts and added her number, then sent a text to her phone before returning it to him. “For revenge planning,” she clarified.

He slipped the device into his pocket. “We are not planning a crime via text on our actual phones. That would be very stupid.” 

“Pssh. We can use code words.”

He sighed, exasperated. “You’re a lunatic.”

“No, I’m a secret agent, remember? I know what I’m talking about.” She stood up and collected her equipment. 

“Bye, Fiona.”

She gave him a little wave before she climbed onto the dock and once more entered the sleepy seaside village. No one else was out. Even the seagulls were sleeping somewhere. As she walked back to her cabin, Fiona had Water Street to herself.

\- - - - - -

A couple of days later, there was a package waiting for her at work. “Davy dropped it off for you,” Marnie said as if this was the most normal thing in the world. 

She waited until Marnie had disappeared into the depths of the shop before opening it. Inside was a note that said, _For revenge planning purposes_. Underneath it was a burner phone. There was only one other phone number programmed into the contacts. The name assigned to the number was _Captain_.


End file.
